Serpents in Paradise
by Qoc762
Summary: Beckett and Castle, and a romantic getaway ... what could possibly go wrong? Castle Ficathon 2019. Note: I aplogize to the people living in Ulster County, NY, and especially Shandaken. Nothing like the events described in this story could ever happen there. I chose your town as a setting because I think that it would be the right spot for a romantic week-end.


"Are we going to Yaote?" Kate asked as they drove north on the I 87. She didn't sound overwhelmed with anticipation.

"No, we're not going to Yaote," her husband reassured her.

"Why don't you just tell me where we're headed?"

"Because it's supposed to be a surprise."

"Is it far to go?"

"Why, do you have to pee?"

"No, but it's been a long day, and I'm a little tired."

"We'll be there in about an hour, and I promise that it will be worth the journey. Just relax and enjoy the ride."

"I'm sorry, Castle, I didn't mean to be so grouchy. I guess that deep inside I feel a little guilty for taking Columbus Day off."

"Since when does a captain have to be at the station 24/7? Dean is holding the fort, and he'll do it well. Besides, you are going to work on Thanksgiving."

"I know it's silly. And I swear I'm looking forward to your surprise."

"That's all I wanted to hear. Ah, that's our exit up ahead."

"Okay, we're going west. The Ashokan Reservoir?"

"Only passing by."

"Well, we're definitely heading deeper into the Catskills. It's too early for skiing, and you're not into hunting or fishing. Not to mention the lack of equipment for any of those activities. That leaves hiking, and you could have smuggled our boots into the trunk. Am I close?"

"Sorry, I neither smuggled hiking boots nor any other outdoor equipment in the trunk."

"As much as I hate to admit it, but I'm clueless."

"That's good, surprise-wise."

About forty minutes later, Castle turned right into a smaller road, following it until it apparently dead-ended.

"Are we lost?" Kate peered out of the window. It was already quite dark.

"I hope not. According to the directions, there should be a turn-off on the right."

"You're right. There it is, fifteen yards behind us."

Castle backed up slowly until they were level with a signpost pointing towards the mouth of an even smaller road.

"'Serpent Valley'," Kate read aloud. "Is that right?"

"Absolutely," Castle replied with a sigh of relief. "A streetlamp would have been nice."

"There are several ahead of us. And something like a guardhouse, too. Castle, what is this?"

"You'll see."

They came to a halt at a hand-operated barrier. A young man wearing khakis and a sweater with 'Michael' stitched on it exited the guardhouse.

"Welcome to Paradise Lodge", he greeted them, smiling. "Mr. and Ms. Castle, I presume."

"Yes," the couple answered in unison.

"Nice to have you here. Just follow the road to the Main House, I'll turn on the streetlamps. Don't go too fast, please, some of the curves are quite sharp, and the ascent is steep in some places. Enjoy your stay."

He lifted the barrier, and a moment later a series of lamps came to life along a winding lane, leading them to a white two-story clapboard house with blue shutters and a wrap around porch.

Another young man, dressed almost identical to the one at the barrier, opened the passenger door and offered Kate his hand. His sweater sported the name 'Tyler'.

"Welcome," he said. "Please walk right in, I'll take care of your luggage and the car."

Castle thanked him, handed the car keys over, and followed Kate into the house, where they were welcomed again by a fiftyish woman wearing nylon hiking pants and a V-neck shirt.

"Please come in," she greeted them warmly. "I'm Melissa Walsh. My Great-Great-Grandfather built the first cabin in Serpent Valley in the 1860s and used it when he went hunting. He added more cabins for his friends and gave the whole thing its name. According to family lore he said 'the place is a hunter's paradise, with the serpent leading there', but I'm not sure he really did. He was a minister."

Kate and Castle laughed dutifully at this.

"In case you're wondering, the valley's name refers to its zigzag form, not to an overabundance of reptiles. But that's enough history for now, there is a pamphlet in your cabin, if you're interested. Let me check you in."

She went behind the reception desk and retrieved a key card from a drawer.

"Your cabin is 'Doubletop' – that's its name, not an architectural feature. I'lll show you where it is."

Walsh placed a hand-drawn colored map of the valley on the desk and pointed to the largest building.

"This is the Main House, where we are now. Doubletop Cabin is over here. The dotted lines are covered walkways, though the roof doesn't do you any good when it's windy and raining. But then this isn't a five star hotel, just a lodge in the middle of the great outdoors."

She inexplicably winked.

"The dining room is through that door over there, the kitchen closes at 10. If you prefer to have dinner at the cabin, just phone in your order. Once again, we're keeping things simple, so our menu isn't extensive, but everything is freshly made, with high-quality ingredients. You can still order sandwiches and fruit from room service after 10. Last but not least, you may already know that there's no cell phone reception in the valley, but each cabin has a landline with its own number. Is there anything else you'd like to know?"

Declaring themselves satisfactorily informed, Castle took care of the paperwork, while Kate studied the photographs decorating the walls, which chronicled the history of the lodge and the Walsh family.

Formalities done, they took their leave and went in search of their cabin. Map in hand, they followed the lighted walkways, passing two other cabins, and finally reached their destination.

Doubletop Cabin was set back twenty yards from the walkway, a log cabin with a front porch and an exterior stone chimney at the back that emitted a thin spiral of smoke. Light was shining invitingly out of the two windows nearest to the door, and behind partially drawn curtains on another towards the right corner. The key card reader was hidden in a wooden miniature mailbox, the metal doorknob painted the same shade as the logs.

Entering, they found themselves in a 200 square feet living room, furnished with a three piece seating group, a small dining table with two chairs, and a low cabinet with a vase holding an arrangement of goldenrod and asters. The hardwood floor was decorated with area rugs in different, yet perfectly matching designs and colors, with paintings and photographs depicting nature scenes on the walls. A fire burned in the open fireplace, which, in combination with the soft light of two floor lamps, gave the room a feeling of intimacy.

"So much for keeping it simple," Kate said a little amazed. "Castle, this is beautiful. I'm beginning to relax just looking at this."

"That's the plan. Just you and me, no phone calls, room service, if we want to ..."

A minute passed.

"Let's take a look at the rest of the cabin," Kate suggested a little breathlessly, and led the way to a door on the right side of the living room.

Behind it was the bedroom, about the same size as the living room, with big windows facing west and south. Another fireplace backed it's counterpart on the other side of the interior wall, with a large pictorial quilt next to it, showing stylized flowers in the foreground and a two-peaked mountain in the background.

Another quilt with a pattern of cubes, dark brown in the lower left corner, turning into somber, then fiery red, followed by burning orange, and blazing yellow paling towards light green in the upper right one, covered the queen-sized bed. The matching nightstands each held a small lamp, a carafe of water and a glass. A wardrobe and a dresser framed a luggage rack, on which Tyler had placed the couple's travel bags. Opposite, beneath the west window, stood a wooden chest with a bowl of fruit on it. Next to it a floor lamp cast a mellow light across the room.

"Okay, this is even better than I expected," Castle admitted. "And my expectations were high to begin with."

"Richard Castle, this truly is paradise," his wife replied, pulling him close. "Do you know how long room service is available?"

"No idea. But there's the fruit, and I have a chocolate bar and some trail mix in my bag."

"That will do."

* * *

Kate woke up to the aroma of coffee wafting from a cup on Castle's nightstand.

"What time is it?" she asked, yawning. "And where did you get coffee?"

"It's almost nine o'clock, and there's an electric kettle in the closet next to the bathroom door, along with tea bags and packets of not too bad instant coffee."

"As long as it isn't decaf, I'll have some."

"Here, take mine," Castle offered her his cup. "Or if you're able to endure your caffeine-less state for another five minutes, I'll order breakfast."

"No way," Kate took a large sip. "If we start the day with room service, we'll never make it out of the cabin before Monday."

"And what's wrong with that?"

"I for one need fresh air and some exercise."

"Exercise won't be a problem, I can guarantee that. And we can always open the windows."

"Let me put it this way: I need to exercise some other muscle groups."

"Well, if that's what you want, I'm going to have a cold shower now."

* * *

When Kate and Castle entered the dining room in the main house they were greeted by a young woman wearing the lodge's uniform of khakis and a sweater which proclaimed her name to be Amber.

"Good morning, Mr. and Ms. Castle. Would you like to be placed on the eastern or western side? The sun is on the east side, of course, but in my opinion the view on our garden on the west side is worth missing a few sunbeams."

"West side it is, then," Castle replied after exchanging a look with his wife.

Amber led them to a niche created by metal trellises covered with artificial vines and hung with potted sneezeweed, bromeliads, plumbagos, and verbenas. A carved screen shielded the table and chairs inside from view.

"Please enjoy our breakfast buffet. "If something needs to be refilled or topped up, please let me know."

"Oh, I will," Castle murmured. "I'm really hungry."

"That's to be expected after we forgot to have dinner."

"Not to mention all the exercise ..."

"I think we'll get our strength back in no time," Kate surveyed the array of food with appreciating eyes.

It wasn't as big a spread as one would expect in a city hotel, but a varied one nonetheless. Cornflakes, whole grain oats, nuts, seeds, raisins, chopped fruit, milk, and yoghurt invited the guests to mix their own muesli. A basket holding bagels and three kinds of bread stood next to a toaster and an electric pancake griddle, which waited for the batter in a bowl on the side. Honey, maple syrup, black currant, and strawberry jam were offered in smaller dishes, and on a tray filled with ice cubes sat platters and bowls with salted and unsalted butter, two kinds of cream cheese, lox, celery and carrot sticks, cherry tomatoes, and cucumber slices. A basket with apples, pears, plums, and grapes accompanied pitchers of water, orange juice, and cranberry juice. The smell of scrambled eggs and bacon strips wafted from a chafer. Lastly, an espresso machine, an electric kettle, and containers filled with different kinds of leaf tea completed the offerings.

Casting quick glances over their shoulders, Kate and Castle found the dining room empty except for Amber, who discreetly kept her back to them, and unceremoniously loaded their plates to capacity.

"Share this bagel?" Castle asked quite a while later. "It looks so unhappy all alone, but I'm too full to put it out of its misery all by myself."

"Sorry, can't help you there," Kate answered. "Just leave it. Hopefully they'll feed it to the chickens."

"What chickens?" Castle looked out of the window into the large garden, where fruit trees mixed at will with flower beds in full autumnal splendor.

"The ones who provided you with scrambled eggs. They have almost forty of them. I guess they keep them out of earshot from the cabins."

"And upwind, I hope. How do you know about them at all?"

"I read the pamphlet while you were showering," Kate retrieved a booklet from her purse. "The lodge's history is really interesting, and they're putting a real effort into environmental sustainability. For example, everything runs on electricity produced exclusively by the Fall of Man."

"Come again?"

"It's a waterfall near the head of the valley. Presumably named by Stephen Oliver Hart, the minister and great-great-grandfather of Ms. Walsh. We could go and take a look."

"Any other POI's?"

"In the valley itself? Just Angels' View, a lookout point on the highest part of the northern wall, but sneakers won't get us up there."

"We could wear our hiking boots."

"You didn't take them, remember?"

"I said that I didn't smuggle them in the trunk. They were in the duffel on the backseat. I know you well enough to anticipate your desire for outdoorsy activities."

"Then why the fib?"

"Because I held on to the small hope that the need for hiking boots wouldn't arise. Or, to be precise, I was hoping to spend the entire weekend unshod."

"Get ready to find out the angels' view on your subterfuge then, pal."

* * *

"How much farther is it?" Castle panted, as they hit a particularly steep and narrow part of the trail.

"We're almost there," Kate assured him.

"That's what you said ten minutes ago."

"Stop grouching. Enjoy the view."

"I am," Castle muttered, his eyes on his wife's lower back.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"I can already see the crest. Five minutes, tops."

According to Castle's watch it took them four minutes and thirty-two seconds to reach the point where the path leveled off. It followed the ridgeline and finally widened into a natural platform, surrounded by a waist-high wooden rail.

"Look at the foliage! Isn't it gorgeous?"

"Absolutely. If we weren't already married, I'd propose on the spot - it's the perfect place. Secluded, romantic ..."

"Visible from every mountain around on a clear day like this ..."

"Who cares?"

"Right. Let them watch."

"And … get really … mmmmmmh … envious."

* * *

"Maybe we should go back to our cabin."

"In a few minutes. Trekking all the way up and then leaving again just ten minutes later feels like a waste of time and energy. And I need to catch my breath first."

"You're right. According to the brochure, you can see the seven mountains the cabins are named after, if weather conditions are like they are today."

"I can see more than seven peaks. The two over there could belong to Doubletop Mountain."

"They do." Kate pointed to the rail, where the peak's name and an arrow pointing roughly south-west were carved in.

"Ah, I see. So over there to the east is Panther Mountain, and to the south Fir and Big Indian."

"Then there's Doubletop and Graham Mountain. Which one do you think is Eagle Mountain? The one on the horizon or the one that's comparatively near?"

Castle brought his eyes level with the rail's surface and squinted.

"I'd say it's the nearer one."

His wife fulfilled his hopes by bending down, too.

"Agreed. That makes six."

"Number seven is Balsam Mountain, to the north. Again the one nearer to us, I guess."

Kate pulled her cell out of her small knapsack and shot several photographs of the ridges around them.

"Got your breath back?" she asked, turning towards Castle, who nodded expectantly. "Good. Let's go back, and I promise to knock you out of your boots."

A deafening boom shattered the tranquility of the valley. The couple jumped and looked around, then froze in horror at the sight of flames bursting through the remains of one end of the lodge's main building, spreading rapidly.

"Oh my God," Castle said hoarsely.

Kate frantically checked her cell's display, walking the platform's perimeter.

"Damn, there's absolutely no signal. I hope the landline still works."

"They seem to be somewhat prepared."

Castle pointed to the barn that camouflaged a parking garage. Two small fire engines shot through its wide open double doors and took positions on both sides of the house. Within the minute they were pumping water into the flames, not able to extinguish but at least to contain them.

"Good work," Kate remarked. "I just hope nobody gets it in their head to play hero and go in."

Castle realized that she was taping the incident with her phone.

"What are you doing?"

"There will be an investigation, and the experts can get a lot of information from the way the fire spreads or even the color of the flames. It's all we can do at the moment."

"I knew you can keep your cool under most circumstances and yet I'm surprised."

"Surprised or appalled? The way you said it sounded disapproving."

"I guess my gut reaction leans toward perturbation. A little. But I see the reasoning behind it."

"It's the training, Castle. If you can't actively help, call for help. If that's done, or as in our case impossible, document what happens."

"Someone was able to call for help. I can here sirens."

"Alright, I think there's no reason to keep taping any longer. Shall we go?"

"By all means."

* * *

Two hours later they walked towards the partially destroyed building where they had enjoyed a leisurely breakfast less than six hours before. The area was cordoned off with police tape one hundred feet to each side, but the heat emanating from the smoldering heap of rubble hit them long before they reached it. Ghostly wisps of smoke drifted past and made their eyes water, but the worst thing was the slight smell of burnt flesh underlying the acrid stench of inanimate objects reduced to ashes.

"Let it be the chickens," Castle murmured. His wife answered by squeezing his hand.

For a moment they just watched the scene before them. Several firefighters were packing their gear while others checked the debris for residual smoldering. Two paramedics carefully made their way from the parking garage to the single ambulance parked just outside the taped-off area. Men and women in police uniforms or plain clothes took videos and photographs, placed evidence markers on the ground, or measured the distance between the house and charred pieces that had been propelled to all sides by the explosion. One of the uniformed officers spotted Kate and Castle standing near the yellow tape and walked over.

"Who are you?" he demanded. "What are you doing here?"

Kate introduced them.

"We're guests," she explained. "We were out for a hike."

"I'd better take you to see the Chief, then. Follow me."

He led them to the parking garage, where they were met by another uniformed officer.

"Officer Caldwell, these two just appeared at the scene. They say they're guests. I thought Chief Fox would want to know."

"He's with the investigators they sent over from Kingston," Caldwell, a tall, barrel-chested man in his late thirties, answered. "I'll talk to them."

"If you wish," the other man said with a shrug and left. Kate noticed that according to his badge, he belonged to the Woodstock Police Department, while Officer Caldwell served with the Shandaken PD.

Caldwell ushered them to a folding table in a corner of the garage, away from a group of people huddled over another table. In Kate's estimation the place was large enough to house twenty cars, with roughly two thirds of the parking spaces occupied. Curiously, their Mercedes stood out among a herd of black, white and gray compact cars, with a Jeep and three subcompacts thrown in for good measure. Those license plates she could see were all from New York.

Caldwell pulled up three chairs, seating the couple on one side of the table and himself opposite.

"I guess you're married?" he half asked, half stated.

"Yes, we are," Castle replied.

"Do you think one of your spouses might know you're here?"

"Who?"

"Your spouses. Could they've gotten suspicious?"

"Ahem, Officer Caldwell, there's a misunderstanding," Kate put in. "We are married – to each other."

"Yeah, right. That would be a first. Come on, even the alias is a give-away. I mean, 'Richard Castle' as in the writer. Duh! My wife is a big fan and told me all about him."

"Like what?" Castle asked feebly.

"Like he's gay and lives with this guy, Nick Storm? You should have gone old school and stuck to Smith or Miller."

"Officer Caldwell, why don't you check our driver's licenses? Mine's in this knapsack, next to my gun and my permit."

"Why do you carry a gun?" Caldwell's hand went to his holster. "Put your knapsack on the table. Slowly. And both of you keep your hands where I can see them."

"Because I'm a captain with the NYPD," Kate informed him acidly, sliding the bag in his direction. "My badge's in there, too."

Caldwell opened it gingerly and checked the contents without removing them. Finally he returned the knapsack and leaned across the table.

"You're on an undercover mission," he whispered. "Well, you had me there."

Castle leaned forward, too.

"I hope you know how to keep a secret," he whispered back. "We're so deeply entrenched in this mission, we can hardly tell fact from fiction ourselves by now."

Caldwell responded with the familiar gesture of zipping his mouth shut.

"Jake, we need you outside," a woman's voice interrupted their inane conversation.

Caldwell shot up.

"On my way, Sarge. These are Mr. and Mrs. Castle. We were waiting for the Chief to finish his powwow. Oh, sorry, I should have put it in a different way. No offense meant."

"None taken, Officer," the Sergeant, whose Native-American ancestry was evident, replied. "They're done with the photographs and the evidence has to be collected and cataloged."

Caldwell gave a two-finger salute and left.

"Glad to see you're alive and well," the Sergeant turned her attention to Kate and Castle. "I'm Sergeant Karuka George, Shandaken PD. I don't know what Officer Caldwell has told you about the fire, but I hope you'll understand that I have to ask you some question, some of them quite personal."

"That's alright, Sergeant. I'm with the NYPD myself and my husband is the author of several crime novels, so we know the drill."

"Then you really are Richard Castle?"

"The one and only. And we are really married."

"I see. Officer Caldwell has already started to interview you."

"We didn't get very far. He was skeptical about our truthfulness."

"He actually came to an erroneous conclusion," Kate added and related the gist of their conversation with the officer to the sergeant.

"Let me put it this way – he had certain reasons to be cautious," George said. "But let's go back to you. How did you spend your day?"

Kate skimmed over the breakfast and the ascent to Angels' View, but gave as detailed an account as possible of what they had seen of the explosion and offered the video she taped, which the Sergeant accepted.

"And you didn't see anything suspicious down here before the explosion? Maybe something that seemed harmless then but in hindsight might not be."

"Sorry, we didn't look into the valley. At least I didn't. Castle?"

"Neither did I, except for a glance when we got there. And if I remember correctly, the foliage hid almost everything but the main building, the parking garage, and segments of the walkways here and there. The cabins were out of view. They're really serious about privacy here."

"Speaking of cabins and privacy, do you mind if we search your cabin and belongings?"

"It wasn't an accident then," Kate stated the obvious.

"Too early to say for sure. About the search - you know we'll get a warrant anyway ..."

"... and in the interest of saving time it would be helpful if we didn't insist on one," Castle finished the sentence for her. "Go ahead."

"Thank you. It shouldn't take long. Would you prefer to wait here or shall someone take you to a restaurant?"

"Good question," Castle answered. "How are you going to proceed? Regarding us and the other guests, I mean. Is there a 'don't leave town' waiting in the wings? If so, where shall we stay tonight? I can't imagine there are many vacancies around here on a long weekend."

"You're right, this is a problem. We have to request that you stay for at least another day, and since there really is no other place to stay except for a couple of cots in the station's back room, that leaves only your cabin. Officers will be patrolling the grounds all night in case you're worried about safety. The kitchen is off-limits for the time being, though, until the extent of the structural damage to the building has been assessed."

"What about the damage to the Walsh family and their employees?" Kate asked. "We've noticed the smell, Sergeant George."

"Apart from minor burns and mild respiratory problems from smoke inhalations, they're physically alright. We haven't been able to get to every part of the wreckage, so we keep hoping that there are no human remains in it. By the way, did you meet any of the other guests?"

"That's an extremely ominous 'by the way'," Castle commented. "More like 'apropos'. And no, we haven't seen hide nor hair of anyone who doesn't work here."

"You were probably not the only ones who decided to go on a hike," George left the unasked question not quite unanswered. "To come back to the question as to what you want to do until we are done with your cabin. And your car."

"Restaurant?" Castle looked at his wife, who nodded. "Okay, we'll take you up on your offer. Any place you'd recommend?"

"There are several good restaurants nearby, most of them will have opened by now. Three of those are in Pine Hill, within walking distance from each other: the Pine Hill Crown, the Notos, and the Pioneer."

"Sounds good. Pine Hill it is."

* * *

The still nameless officer they had met first let them out at the corner of Main and Birch Street, almost on the steps of the Notos restaurant. Their decision to go right in had less to do with convenience than the fact that the Pioneer, located kitty-corner to the Notos, and the Pine Hill Crown four doors down the street were each part of a hotel, and therefore probably even less pleased about drop-ins hanging around for hours than a restaurant without house guests to cater to.

The room was empty except for the barkeeper, who served a glass of something that should probably be on the rocks but wasn't to a middle-aged woman. Castle did a double take.

"Barbara!" he exclaimed. "Now that's a surprise. I'd never have expected you and Brian at a place with less than a million residents."

He turned to Kate.

"I don't think the two of you have met. This is Barbara Wells. You may remember her husband, Brian, from the Mets game in April. Barbara, meet my wife Katherine."

"Please, call me Kate. Nice to meet you. I have to admit that I remember the game – Miami creamed us, after all – but I'm afraid I'm not sure which of the men Rick introduced me to was your husband. Sorry about that."

"Don't be," Barbara Wells waved off her apology. "For some reason Brian and his buddies become look-alikes as soon as they put on their fan gear and down a couple of beers. If they were put in a line-up, I'm not sure I'd be able to pick him out."

"I'm sure he'll leave more of an impression today," Castle said.

"No, he won't. Brian's on his way to Shanghai for a biotech trade show. I was going to spend a quiet, contemplative weekend, but there was a fire at my lodge and I'm temporarily displaced."

"You're at Paradise Lodge, too?" Castle asked. "What a coincidence."

"Oh. Yes, absolutely," Barbara Wells knocked back her drink. "Well, it was nice to see you, but I really need to go. Let's get together for dinner back in the city some time. Bye."

Castle opened his mouth, but Wells was out of the door before he could utter a single word.

"What was that about?" Kate looked at her husband with astonishment. "Did I say something wrong?"

"I don't think so," he answered equally perplexed. "That was really strange."

"Or maybe not," Kate was suddenly struck by an idea. "She probably hasn't come alone to the lodge."

"Barbara? I don't know … And where has her hypothetical companion got to?"

"Some other restaurant, I guess. She obviously doesn't want them to be seen together."

"That would explain Officer What's-His-Name's confusion about our marital status, at least in part."

"Only if she's not the only guest committed to adultery."

"Excellently put, Beckett."

"Thank you, Castle."

Behind them the barkeeper cleared his throat.

"Would you like something to drink?" he inquired politely.

"Coffee would be nice," Kate answered. "And we'd like do have dinner later, if you're not booked out."

"I'm sure we will be able to accommodate you. Our hostess had to take care of something and will be back shortly. How do you like your coffee?"

* * *

The hostess returned indeed while the couple was still sipping their cappuccinos, with several people they recognized in her wake.

"Mr. and Mrs. Castle!" Melissa Walsh rushed towards them. "I'm so glad to see you're alright."

"We're so sorry about what happened," Castle replied. "It must have been a terrible shock, but at least you and your staff weren't badly hurt."

"Yes, we've been very lucky. Amber got knocked down and sprained her wrist, and Tyler and Michael suffered burns when they tried to douse the flames, but there are no broken bones among us."

"We've watched their efforts from Angels' View, "Kate said. "They went into action remarkably quick and coordinated. Really impressive work."

"When you live in a secluded area, it pays to be prepared," a man about the same age as Melissa joined in. "I can't tell you how glad I am that we went to the expense of buying the fire engines. It sat us back a little, but today I see that they are worth every penny."

"My husband Dennis," Melissa introduced him. "Kitchen chef, part-time decorator, head gardener, and drill sergeant at our safety exercises."

"And my wife is not only the boss, accountant and a veritable jackie-of-all-trades," Dennis returned the compliment. "She's the soul of Paradise Lodge."

His wife colored slightly and nudged him.

"We shouldn't talk like that until we're absolutely sure that nobody was seriously harmed," she gently rebuked him and probably herself, too. "You don't happen to know if Mr. Byrd has shown up?"

"The police didn't tell us much, but I got the impression that they were still looking for someone," Kate answered. "That might have been my imagination, though."

"As I said before, it's highly unlikely that Mr. Byrd was anywhere near the fire," Dennis said soothingly. "Had he been at the reception, we'd found him there, and why would he have been in our private quarters?"

"It was your apartment that has been … damaged?" Castle narrowly avoided the more apt 'destroyed'.

The Walshes just nodded.

"It happened to me once, too," Kate told them. "It was hard to come to terms with at first, and some of the things I lost couldn't be replaced, but in the end I found out which of those that could were really important to me."

"Where are you going to stay?" Castle asked. "Since the police asked everyone to remain at the lodge, the cabins aren't available."

"We have friends and relatives who're kind enough to put us up for a couple of days," Dennis replied. "And afterwards we'll just rent an RV to be on site while the necessary repairs are made."

Kate thought it best not to voice her doubts about that plan. Considering the extent of the damages to the building, the repairs were bound to take several weeks, and a motor home was in all likelihood not the best place to hibernate in the Catskills.

The Walshes excused themselves and rejoined their group, Amber, Michael and Tyler among them. The hostess approached Kate and Castle and offered them a table for two that would be theirs until 8 p.m., which they accepted gratefully.

* * *

By the time Kate and Castle finished their excellent, dinner they had not only been notified that they could reclaim Doubletop Cabin, but been offered a ride back to Serpent Valley by a college-age kid.

"I work summers at Paradise Lodge, and help out on weekends sometimes, too," he explained. "My Dad let me take his Explorer, you should be comfortable."

"Thank you, you made us an offer we cannot refuse," Castle misquoted, which obviously went past the kid. He made up his lack of familiarity with classic movie quotes by his calm and relaxed driving and delivered them safely as near to their destination as he could. He reluctantly accepted the two twenties Castle pressed on him, claiming that the Walshes would recompense him and thanked them profusely.

The site of the explosion was illuminated by several portable spotlights that reduced the half dozen people working the scene to featureless black shapes.

A uniformed officer met them, obviously alerted by her counterpart manning the guard house. She led them around the splintered remnants of the first part of the walkway which had been mowed down by the fire engines and accompanied them to their cabin.

Inside they found almost no traces of the search conducted by the police. Castle lit a fire in the living room's grate while Kate surveyed the array of teabags next to the electric kettle.

"You can choose between lemon grass, goji, mint, hibiscus, and something called coffee cherry tea," she reported. "It's herbal, though. Or do you need caffeine?"

"No, I'm wired as it is, and since the day has killed my romantic inclinations, lemon grass tea is fine."

"I know exactly how you feel."

A couple of minutes later she put two steaming mugs on the table and joined her husband on the sofa.

"What do you make of the explosion going off in the Walshes' quarters?" she asked.

"Interesting, isn't it?" he said. "I had assumed that there were storage rooms in that part of the house, where they kept propane cylinders for emergencies. Are you sure they don't use gas at all?"

"They made a point of being one-hundred percent green regarding energy. That could be an exaggeration, of course, but I somehow don't believe it is."

"Then what could cause an explosion like that?"

"Go ahead and say it out loud."

"A bomb."

"Unfortunately, I can't think of any other explanation."

"There's always the possibility of an alien attack."

"Of course."

"It looks personal though, don't you think? If the target had been the lodge it would have made more sense to go for a cabin or even the parking garage. Not to mention the generator."

"Could be that the Walshes' apartment was just the easiest place to get to without being seen, or to break in."

"That would require a certain familiarity with the building's layout and security. Are you suggesting an inside job?"

"The Walshes could have done it for the insurance. An employee could hold a grudge against them. The point is that it is difficult to get into the valley unseen, at least as far as we know."

"Unless you're a paying guest, like the elusive Mr. Byrd."

"It's certainly possible that he planted the bomb and skipped out on the bill."

"Or he was disastrously inept and paid a rather steep price for it."

"Which brings us back to motive. Why Paradise Lodge?"

"I guess we can rule out ecoterrorism. Reducing the competition in the local hospitality business? Did someone find gold?"

"Maybe Officer Caldwell's right and a disgruntled wife took it out on the locale instead of the husband or the lover," Kate yawned. "It would be taking things a little too far though."

"Do you think Mrs. Caldwell really told her hubby that I'm involved with a guy called Nick Storm, or did he just not pay enough attention to what she said about me? Okay, okay, you're absolutely right."

Kate smiled sweetly and got up.

"I'll just rinse out the mugs and go to bed then."

"You made the tea, I'll do the dishes. And Kate?"

"Mhm?"

"I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"How things turned out. There I went, planning a romantic weekend for us to work on our little project, and what happens? The place gets bombed."

"It's not your fault, babe, unless you planted the bomb. And to quote a famous southern belle: 'After all, tomorrow is another day!'"

* * *

Kate and Castle returned to Pine Hill the next day for a hearty breakfast at a coffee shop called Deirdre's Place, a four-hour hike on the Rochester Hollow Trail, and a therefore well-earned and satisfying lunch again at the coffee shop. On their return to Serpent Valley, the police officer manning the guard house asked them to stop by the mobile home parked near the intact part of the main building.

When they knocked on the double-wide's door, it was opened by Sergeant George, who ushered them past a group of people deep in conversation in the trailer's living room into a small bedroom, now doing duty as an office.

An almost bald, slightly overweight man wearing a chief's four silver stars on his collar got up from his chair behind a makeshift desk.

"Roger Fox, Chief of Shandaken PD," he introduced himself. "Thank you for coming."

He nodded to George who left the room and closed the door behind her.

"Please take a seat," Fox gestured towards the folded sofa bed and awkwardly moved his chair around the table.

"First, let me tell you that you're not under suspicion," he resumed the so far one-sided conversation. "You are free to return to New York whenever you wish to, but I would be grateful if you didn't."

"Why?" Castle asked. "We've told Sergeant George everything we know."

"Because it is a complicated case and we could use the help of a captain and a consultant of the NYPD."

"How official is this … request?" Kate asked.

"Completely unofficial," Fox admitted. "I'm banking on your professional curiosity."

Kate looked at her husband, who mouthed 'I'm in', just as she had expected.

"We'll have to leave tomorrow evening," she said. "Until then, we'll do what we can to help."

"Thank you very much," Fox could not quite hide his relief. "Do you have any question you'd like to ask before we join the others?"

"Yes," Castle piped up. "How in the world did you get this monster of an RV around those bends?"

"The way hedgehogs make love, Mr. Castle."

* * *

Chief Fox' announcement that Beckett and Castle had agreed to help out did not generate enthusiasm among the five people in what would normally be the living room. Sergeant George's impassive face was the most welcoming, the looks the four men wore ranged from skeptical to almost hostile.

"Lieutenant Carlson, my second-in-command, is in charge of the team," Fox indicated a fortyish redhead. "He'll bring you up to speed. Mark, I'm off now, the press conference is in two hours."

"I'm renewing my objection to having outsiders participate in this investigation, Chief Fox," a stocky Asian-American said. "Especially an amateur."

"Noted," Fox replied. "Again."

The door closed behind him.

Mark Carlson cleared his throat.

"Captain, Mr. Castle, please meet Donald Nguyen, Senior Investigator from the Ulster County Fire Investigation Unit," he said with just a slight hint of amusement in his voice. "And these two guys are from the State Police's Bureau of Criminal Investigation, Senior Investigators Scott Williamson and Christopher Mills."

"I guess since he's your husband, we'll get either both of you or none," Williamson, a lanky man with a head of graying dark curls and a full beard, remarked.

"I wouldn't say that," Beckett answered, feeling Castle tense beside her. "I'll talk everything through with him anyway, because he thinks outside the box, or as some people would say, outside the warehouse sometimes. Point is, you'll get both of us either way, and it would save a lot of time and effort to let him stick around."

"You should go into sales, Captain Castle," Mills, who tried to compensate for a balding crown by way of a ponytail, said.

"I don't think so. I'm an absolute dud when it comes to exaggeration. By the way, I go by the name of Beckett professionally."

"Now that we've all met each other, can we get back to work?" Nguyen complained. "Or do you need to be formally introduced, too, Karuka? You've met them, right?"

"I did, Don, but thanks for asking," George replied waspishly.

"Okay, folks, let's get a move on," Carlson said in a firm voice. "Scott, why don't you call the lab? Anything they've got can be of help. Karuka, check with the building inspector if there's any chance we can get into that damn dining room within the hour. Don and Chris, have another go at the simulation. I still think the theory of only one of the bombs being at its intended place holds water."

He turned to Beckett and Castle.

"Here's what we know so far," he began. "There were two bodies under the rubble, one male, one female, both severely burnt and his head blown to pieces. We know that the female was dead before the explosion – no smoke in her lungs, but a piece of metal in her neck. Could be the bolt of a crossbow. We found traces of two bombs, both triggered by a short range remote control, which puts you in the clear since you were too far away. The blast seat was in the office behind the reception area, directly above a floor safe. Luckily, the explosion was directed downwards and towards the family's living quarters, otherwise the whole building might have come down."

"That could have been intentional," Castle remarked.

"Like the bomber targeted something specific like the safe? That would be using a sledgehammer to crack a nut."

"Lack of experience, possibly even resulting in his own death. Or he just didn't want to endanger people, and failed spectacularly."

"Has Mr. Byrd turned up?" Beckett inquired. "Alive, I mean?"

"No, he hasn't. And if he's our male vic, there's no way to tell. No face, no prints, parts of his teeth all over the place, and he – the vic – didn't have the foresight to acquire implants of any kind that could be traced. All we know is that he once broke his left shinbone, but hey, so did I."

"And the dead woman?"

"Her teeth are where they usually are, and the M.E. made x-rays. We'll compare them as soon as we have a likely candidate among the missing persons, but it's too soon for her to be even reported missing."

"Does she have identifying marks to narrow the field down a little?" Castle asked.

"Not really. 5'5 to 5'7, mid to late twenties, in good shape. Probably Caucasian. No old injuries, but the appendix was removed."

"If she was local, you'd know about her being missing," Beckett thought out loud. "She could be a tourist, though I doubt it. News about the explosion have spread, and if someone was unaccounted for, it would have been reported. Any idea how she got into the valley?"

Carlson shook his head.

"That's another mystery. The guardhouse is manned 24/7, and the entrance is not only well lit, they have motion activated lights, too, which they switch on during the night. A local farmer delivered a side of beef and a dozen lamb chops around 8 a.m., but she would have noticed a stowaway. An experienced climber could have made it down the valley walls, but the risk of being seen would be high. Not to mention the risk of having an accident."

"I guess you'd have to know the valley very well to do that, and we've already ruled out the locals," Castle said. "That leaves two possibilities: It's a former employee, or a guest smuggled her in. If that's the case, I'd go with Mr. Byrd."

"That's what I think," Carlson agreed. "The part about this Byrd guy getting her in, I mean. When it comes to former employees, the problem is that there aren't that many. As far as I know, there are only four, and none of them is a young woman. There's of course a truckload of kids that did odd jobs, and college students working summers, but they're all from around here."

"But some of them are men, I guess," Beckett pointed out. "It's still possible that the dead man isn't Byrd at all, though admittedly it's more likely to be him. I presume you're combing the valley on the off chance that his body's lying somewhere because he spotted the intruders."

"Of course we do. But here's the thing: When we checked the cabin Byrd stayed in, we dusted it for prints, just in case the M.E. works a miracle, and we found none. Not a single one. Every surface has been wiped clean."

"Good housekeeping?" Castle suggested.

"The "Do not disturb" light was on, so no one went in."

"The what?" Castle frowned.

"Each cabin has a switch on the inside of the door frame that activates a small red light in the box the key card reader's in. Coming back to Edward Byrd, if that's really his name, we checked his personal belongings for prints, too. Nada. Zip. Zilch. Not even on his toothbrush. Just smudges that look like they were made by gloves."

"Maybe he has a skin condition," Castle theorized, though his heart wasn't in it.

"Melissa Walsh swears that he didn't wear gloves when he arrived, and to her, his hands looked normal. And his suitcase was clean, too, even the handle, where we should have found Tyler's prints, since he delivered it to the cabin."

"I'm convinced," Beckett raised her hands in surrender. "Whether the dead man is Byrd or not, something's fishy about him."

"Fishy?" her husband echoed. "I'd say there's a whole ichthyofauna about him. That's the word for all fish in a region … but never mind that now. What about the address and phone number he gave when he booked the cabin? They take things like that serious, they even called me back to verify my number."

"You could have used a burner phone and they'd been none the wiser," Beckett argued. "But didn't the Walshes wonder that he came alone? This place screams 'romantic getaway', so how often do they rent a cabin to a single person?"

"I don't know how unusual that is, but Byrd came with the cover story of being an amateur historian writing about Serpent Valley. He spent a week at the Friday Mountain Motel in May, hiking, and approached Melissa and Dennis by e-mail afterwards. He sent them copies of three articles he'd written about families in the Smoky Mountains that had been published by historical societies in Georgia. We checked it out, that part is true. Unfortunately, we don't have the address he'd given the Walshes, because all the paperwork has been destroyed, the computers are gone, as are the safety copies they made. Dennis is relatively sure Byrd said that he was from Rome, Georgia, and we've asked Rome PD to look into it, but it's not their top priority, especially since we can't be one-hundred percent sure that it wasn't Rome in, say, Alabama or even Oneida County up north."

"Or Athens, Georgia," Castle unhelpfully suggested.

"Our Byrd is either the real Edward Byrd, who has something to hide ...," Kate recapped.

"... or suffers from mysophobia ..."

"... or he uses Edward Byrd as a front to, well, do what? Rob the Walshes? What was in the safe, by the way?"

"Personal and business documents, a flash drive with copies of everything on their computer, about five hundred in cash, and some jewelry, but its value is less than a thousand dollars. Not really worth the risk of fooling around with explosives, all the more so if you manage to destroy the goodies trying to blast the safe open."

"It almost sounds as if 'fooling around with explosives' might be close to the truth," Castle remarked. "If it weren't for the remote control, I'd say some kids threw a bundle of nitro sticks in and ran."

"It was TNT. But you're right, it feels absolutely like the work of an amateur."

"What are your next steps?" Beckett asked.

"Searching for Byrd's prints at the table where he had his breakfast, assuming the sprinkler system hasn't washed everything away. Hoping the lab in Albany finds something we can work with. Looking for Edward Byrd, in any manifestation he might exist. Looking into the financial situation of the Walsh family, trying to talk several police departments into checking the alibis of one of their richer citizens' spouses."

"Anyone from New York City apart from Barbara Wells? We ran into her at the Notos yesterday."

"No, the two of you, Ms. Wells and Mr. Kyle Richards, her companion, are the only representatives from New York. Let's rejoin the others, and you can take a look at the other couples' names."

* * *

Karuka George was waiting for Carlson with the news that the dining room and kitchen had been declared safe by the building inspector, and that a CSU team was already at work. Scott Williamson reported that the only thing the lab had had to say was along the lines of 'don't call us, we'll call you'. Donald Nguyen and Christopher Mills stated that the simulation they'd run indicated that the bombs had lain in close proximity to each other directly above the floor safe.

"Whatever that means," Mills added.

"Maybe two smaller bombs were easier to carry than one big device," Williamson suggested.

"Or the other bomb was meant to explode somewhere else but went off prematurely," Carlson put in.

"Where?" Nguyen asked.

"Could be that the safe wasn't the target at all," Beckett offered. "The bomber might have broken into the office to get a key to the powerhouse. Cutting off the electricity would cripple the running of the Lodge more than attacking the owners' private rooms."

"And if the bomber had waited 'til the evening, the effect would have been more impressive," Castle said. "How often does the powerhouse get checked out?"

Nobody answered. Carlson grabbed the satellite phone and dialed.

"This is Carlson. Ask the Walshes about the powerhouse's security," he ordered someone on the other end. "Call me back ASAP."

The very moment he had finished the call, Scott Williamson's phone dinged. His side of the conversation consisted of a series of hms and a terse 'on my way' at the end.

"One of my informants claims to know something, but he'll only talk to me," he explained. "Hope it's worth the drive."

On his way out he almost collided with a uniformed officer who sidled up to Karuka George and started to talk in a low voice.

"Anything you want to share with us, Officer Silva?", his Lieutenant inquired sharply. Sergeant George nodded encouragingly, and the young man, who had turned beet red, cleared his throat.

"It's probably not important," he said. "I remembered that my girlfriend told me last week that she overheard Amber and Michael Hansen having an argument. Amber accused him of cheating on her."

"Thank you, Anthony," Carlson said in a much friendlier tone. "We'll see if it leads somewhere."

Silva left the RV with relief written all over his face.

"If Michael's having an affair the female vic could be his lover," Castle theorized. "That would explain why she was already dead when the bombs went off. She sneaked into the house for a little tryst with Michael, surprised Byrd in his search for the keys, and he killed her."

"With a crossbow he just happened to carry around with him?" Beckett challenged him.

"If she was killed with a crossbow, it was probably the one hanging on the wall next to the door to the reception area," George came to the rescue. "It was an antique Melissa's father bought and he used it to teach his children and grandchildren how to use it."

"But she wouldn't keep it on the wall ready to shoot," Beckett argued.

"It wasn't loaded but cocked, and the bolts were displayed next to it."

"Sorry, I forgot to tell you that," Carlson apologized. "If it really is a bolt from a bow in Jane Doe's neck we can safely assume that she was indeed shot with Norman Hart's crossbow. But that doesn't tell us who shot her."

"A weapon of opportunity," Castle nodded. "But you have to be very quick to get it off the wall, load and aim it, before your opponent gets away. Or to you."

"Jane Doe could have been stunned," Nguyen said.

"But it takes some experience to get a crossbow ready and hit someone in the neck, even at short distance," Beckett objected. "And that brings Melissa Walsh to mind, since she learned to shoot a bow using the very one that probably killed the woman."

"So did Amber and Tyler," George replied.

Seeing the questioning looks on Beckett's and Castle's faces she added: "They're Melissa's and Dennis' kids."

"Dennis isn't from around here, so I've no idea if he knows how to handle a crossbow," Carlson added. "Michael's family is local but I can't remember him being on the archery team in high school."

"Any bow-ties among the guests?" Castle asked.

"We didn't ask them about their hobbies," Mills answered.

"You can use the computer and check them out," Carlson offered and handed Castle a file. "It's connected to the satellite dish on the roof, but it's slow going nonetheless."

"We can rule ourselves out," Castle leafed through the file's contents. "And I would be very surprised if Barbara Wells knows how to use a bow. She and Brian grew up in a part of Detroit where archery wasn't the sport of choice. I can see her use a pearl-handled revolver or clubber someone over the head with a poker, but not shooting a bow. That leaves Mr. and Ms. Stephens, who in the real world are the owner of a cable network and his personal assistant from Chicago, the Rizzutos, a marketing executive and his PA from Wichita, the Yosts, a Cincinnati lawyer and his PA, and the Lipons from Baton Rouge, a plastic surgeon and his … uh-oh … sister-in-law. This one gets points for originality. As do the Walshes for not choosing the ubiquitous Smith, Jones and Miller as aliases for their guests."

"Maybe the guests chose the names themselves," his wife suggested.

"We are the Kiners."

"As in Ralph Kiner of 'Kiner's Korner'?"

"Exactly," Karuka George was visibly amused. "The fake guest list was pinned to the wall in the guard house. When we realized that the names where made up, we asked the Walshes about it. Turned out that for each cabin there are eight or nine names they go through over and over again, regardless of who the guests are. The names are those of the opening day lineups from the 1950 MLB season. Each cabin has its own team."

"Fascinating, but irrelevant to the case at hand," Nguyen interrupted. "And in my opinion it doesn't matter shit, either, whether the hotshots and their secretaries are Olympic champions in archery or not, when everything points to Byrd as the shooter."

"It tells us something about the Walshes," Beckett countered. "They've put a lot of thought and ingenuity into every detail of the lodge's operation, and a lot of money, too, by the look of it."

"A minute ago you brought up Melissa Walsh as a suspect, but what you're saying now is that she had so much to lose emotionally that she wouldn't destroy it?"

"No, I didn't say that, and I wasn't planning to. My point is that the Walshes have the skills to plan and execute a dramatic attack on a part of the lodge that is neither as vital to the business as the kitchen, much less the powerhouse, nor holds the risk of injuring or killing guests as an assault on one of the cabins would."

"The two vics might disagree with that," Nguyen commented.

"Even the best plans can go awry for any number of reasons," Beckett ignored the FIU investigator's attitude. "And personally I think it's far more likely that the powerhouse was the intended target than the Walshes bombing their own place, but I don't want to rule anything out at this point."

"What did the Walshes tell you about their insurance situation?" Castle asked.

"Not much," Carlson answered. "They were too shocked to think clearly, I'd say, not to mention that the question 'are we covered if the house explodes' probably never came up. The policy was in the safe, we're waiting for the insurance company to get back to us. Don't know what's taking them so long."

"Guess they called their lawyers first," Mills scoffed. "Make sure they don't make promises they don't intend to keep."

"Why don't you call them and light a fire under their corporate behinds, Chris?" George suggested sweetly.

"Might as well," he answered with a good-humored smile, winked at the sergeant and started to dial. A minute later he was talking into the phone in a polite tone nobody could mistake for friendliness.

Carlson's phone rang. He had barely lifted it to his ear when the door burst open and a man and a woman in coveralls fought for position to enter the RV first, waving evidence bags and talking over each other. An icy glare from Nguyen stopped them in their tracks, bodily and verbally.

"Right, thank you," Carlson ended the call and turned to Beckett and Castle. "Looks like your theory of the powerhouse as the intended target might be worth looking into. According to Tyler Walsh, they used to keep the keys in the office until March when they decided to switch to a keypad. And since the generator has been running smoothly, he only goes over there once a week. Nothing was amiss when he checked it last Wednesday."

"The bomber could have known about the keys but not the keypad," George said. "A former employee after all?"

"Sir?" the coveralled man piped up, looking like a first-grader about to snap his fingers to get the teacher's attention. "We caught a break."

"So did we," announced the woman. "And it lends a whole new perspective to the case."

"Ours will solve one of the central questions."

"Okay, Jenkins ..." Mills started to say.

"Go ahead, Flores ..." Nguyen prompted simultaneously.

Carlson closed his eyes, shook his head and sighed.

"Say a number between zero and ten," Castle requested.

"Five!" the man shouted.

"Three," the woman countered.

Castle opened his left hand, revealing the number eight scrawled on its palm.

"We found this," the man said with a triumphant grin and presented an evidence bag which held a charred piece of bone. "That's part of a mandible with a tooth. It has to be the male vic's, because the female's jaw was intact. There's a good chance we can get DNA from the tooth."

"That's great, Jenkins," Mills commended and clapped him on the back.

"Good news," Carlson nodded. "What do you have for us, Flores?"

"The building inspector wanted to check if the smoke detector in the cabin next to the crime scene needed cleaning from ash particles," the woman replied. "Look what she found."

Now it was her moment to flourish a plastic bag, this one containing a small electronic device.

"It's a motion activated camera," Flores explained. "Right over the bed."

Nguyen high-fived her.

"Which cabin did you find that in?" Beckett, who had colored slightly, asked, avoiding eye contact with her husband, who in turn had become pale.

"Big Indian cabin. But I haven't checked the others."

"Someone seems to have developed a little sideline," Mills broke the embarrassed silence. "Or just a personal fetish."

"Whatever, this someone has a lot to explain," George agreed grim-faced.

"But if we can find the device the videos were sent to, we'll know whether the guests were at their cabins when the bombs were detonated," Flores pointed out, obviously unaware of Beckett's and Castle's whereabouts during the last two nights."

"We need to keep this under wraps," Carlson said. "If there isn't any connection to the bombing, I'd like to deal with this discreetly."

"I'll talk to the building inspector," George got up and left.

"Who besides yourself knows about it?" Mills asked Flores, who swore that she was the only one, and then left to examine the smoke detectors in the remaining six cabins.

"And, unfortunately, whoever installed the camera," the Lieutenant grumbled. "It will be tough to find any proof. If he – or she – used a cell, he's had enough time to get rid of it."

"Who's been staying in Big Indian cabin?" Nguyen wanted to know. "We should talk to them again."

"The Chicago media guy," Castle rediscovered his voice. "But the former occupants of that cabin would be more interesting, don't you think? If someone's doing a little blackmail on the side, they probably haven't gotten round to the current guests."

"True. Problem is, we've no idea who these former occupants were. All the records are gone."

"Just to be on the safe side – you asked the Walshes about cloud storing, didn't you?" Beckett inquired politely. Carlson just nodded.

"Speaking of them, the insurance company is e-mailing us the policy," Mills said. "I got them to tell me the basics, though. They will pay but estimate from what we've told them about the extend of the damage that the Walshes will just break even."

"Unless there are other policies we don't know about," Beckett noted. "But then you'll notice if more than one investigator turns up to assess the damage."

"Insurance fraud looks like a dead end," Carlson decided. "For now."

"What about the tooth?" Jenkins' question caught all of them by surprise. He had quietly taken Karuka George's seat and been immediately forgotten after Flores' news had claimed the spotlight.

"We'll send it over to the lab immediately," Mills took charge of the bone fragment. "Keep looking. Good work."

Jenkins walked out slowly, his feelings clearly wounded.

Shortly afterwards Sergeant George returned after persuading the building inspector to keep the hidden camera out of her report for the time being. CSU reported that the dining room had yielded no prints of Edward Byrd, just a lot of wet ashes. Mills and Carlson debated whether to send the tooth to the Forensic Investigation Center in Albany separately or to wait until the evening in case something else could be retrieved from the debris. Everyone waited for Flores to return.

She finally stepped into the trailer wearing a satisfied smile.

"Found two more," she announced.

"Where?" Carlson asked, not looking at Beckett and Castle.

"Graham and Fir."

Castle masked his louder than intended sigh of relief with a cough. Beckett managed to keep her composure safe for a little sagging of her shoulders.

"Thank God," Nguyen muttered, accompanied, however, by the ghost of a smile.

"Your lab might be able to trace the cameras back to the shop that sold them," Beckett offered.

"That answers the question about doing an extra-run," Mills nodded. George opened the door and beckoned to a uniformed officer, a man of average height and just a T-bone steak or two away from being beefy.

After receiving his instructions he hesitated.

"Might I suggest something?" he asked, hastily adding that they had probably already thought of it.

"Go ahead," Carlson invited him.

"Well, just in case you haven't already done so, you might want to talk to Travis Anderson."

"Who's Travis Anderson?" Nguyen asked.

"I went to school with him, he was two or three years ahead of me," the officer replied. "And he was into climbing in a big way and did all kinds of crazy stuff. He used to boast about it to us younger kids, like that he found an easy route into Serpent Valley and could sneak in and steal Old Norm's garden gnomes whenever he wanted. He never did, of course."

"Good thinking, Officer," Mills said. "The female vic could have used the same route to get in."

"And an accomplice to get out," Nguyen remarked. "This Anderson guy can tell us who knew about this route."

"As far as I know, Travis is still with the army," Carlson got up. "I'll give his father a call – or a mighty holler, to be accurate. He prefers his hearing aid adjusted to a low volume, so he can 'still hear everything despite the damn thing blocking my ear canals'. Your ear canals will be better off if I go outside for this."

"Considering the snailish way this case is moving along, I bet you Anderson is in Afghanistan," George commented.

"You'd better hit the road," Mills handed the tooth and cameras to the officer. "Or you'll have to take the Night Boat to Albany."

* * *

Mark Carlson's vocal cords seemed to be in good shape since he returned within a few minutes.

"Travis Anderson is stationed at Fort Rucker in Alabama," he announced. "I'll call him right away."

During a lengthy discussion with an army captain that ended with Carlson stressing the urgency of getting in contact with Major Anderson, Scott Williamson came back and complained that his informant only knew that a man had been asking questions about Serpent Valley several months ago.

"He thinks it was in May or June, and his description of the man matched the one of Edward Byrd we got from the Walshes. A total waste of time. Any developments here?"

"Oh, absolutely, and you're gonna love this," Mills grinned and told his colleague about the hidden cameras. Williamson whistled.

"That changes things. Maybe one of the blackmail victims hired Byrd to destroy any compromising material."

"Or to send a message," Nguyen suggested. "'You mess with my privacy, I mess with yours', that kind of thing."

"As a fan of elaborate schemes, let me say this – too much," Castle argued. "Why stage this writer charade, establishing a fictional persona months in advance instead of just booking a cabin?"

"To explain why he came alone?" Nguyen offered feebly.

Castle shook his head.

"He could always claim that he had quarreled with his lover but had to go into hiding to keep up appearances."

"Maybe he got the job and the plan from a writer," Williamson quipped. "Or he's a writer himself."

"Byrd's description doesn't ring a bell, but then I don't know every author personally. Not to mention the unpublished ones or those who carry their magnum opus around in their head but never manage to put it into writing."

"Okay, guys, any theories more in touch with reality?" Carlson asked. "Or ideas how to proceed?"

"I'm going to take another look at the scene," Williamson declared. "And walk over to the powerhouse, see how difficult it would be to get there unseen from the house. Captain Beckett, Mr. Castle, you haven't had the chance to survey the crime scene. Care to join me?"

The couple gladly took the chance to escape the crowded and by now very stuffy RV and followed the BCI investigator outside.

* * *

The remains of the Walshes' private quarters offered nothing to see except for ashes, debris and the dripping, black wall between the former dining room and the former reception room, with a gaping hole where the door had been torn from its hinges. Williamson pointed out where the bombs had detonated and the way the shock wave had traveled mostly away from the remaining part of the building.

"The direction of the wave tells us that the bombs were designed to destroy a specific target," he explained. "That part of the attack was well prepared. Whoever built the bombs wasn't necessarily a rocket scientist, but there was some sophisticated engineering involved."

Walking towards the Fall of Man and the powerhouse, they found that the numerous fruit trees and shrubs provided ample cover.

From approximately 150 feet above them the water plunged straight down into a hole ten feet in diameter which emitted an eerie hum, audible over the thundering of the fall. Just outside a seven-feet high steel-mesh fence topped with razor wire surrounding the hole was a small building, looking from afar a lot like the large chicken coop they'd passed on their way, minus the windows and the ladder. Up close the red painted wooden boards turned out to be camouflage for concrete walls. An old-fashioned screen door opened on its steel counterpart. Williamson entered a six digit code into a keypad and the door clicked open.

"Two-four-three-seven-eight-two," he said. "Spells 'cherub'. They need to change it when the investigation is over, maybe they'll go for 'seraph' next."

"They could have used a real cherub," Castle remarked. "Though he wouldn't have been of much use, since it looks like an inside job, at least in part. The serpent was already here."

Lights turned on automatically as they stepped into a twelve by fifteen feet example of austerity. Walls and floor were unfinished concrete, the furnishing consisted of a metal desk and a battered office chair. The desk held four computer screens, one displaying various graphs and numbers, the others live camera feeds of different parts of the plant, a telephone, a small number of technical manuals, two safety earmuffs, and two pens. The air tasted stale to the point of ancient. Opposite of the screens was another metal door, this one secured by a deadbolt. Williamson produced a key.

"If you want to take a look at the turbine or generator or whatever, be my guest, but this field trip was just an excuse to speak with you away from the others."

"Interesting move. Why?" Beckett asked.

"Because I have received a disturbing piece of information. The good news is that we know who 'Edward Byrd' really was."

"Was?" Castle repeated. "So he is the dead male then?"

"Almost certainly. His name was William Chester, age 62, a detective with the Birmingham PD for over thirty years, who retired four years ago. Birmingham, Alabama, to be exact. One of his last cases was the murder of an arms dealer during a robbery, which is still open, because they didn't have enough to charge the three men they are sure were the perps. The suspects are members of the Three Percenters, the militia group, and there were rumors that a splinter cell has started to accumulate weapons in a big way. Chester just couldn't let the matter rest and drove by the guys' homes occasionally at night. I think he himself didn't believe that would net him anything at all, but he got lucky last December, when he saw a car with a New York license plate parked in the driveway of one of the suspects. He had a friend check it. The car belongs to Michael Hansen, Amber's husband."

"Wait a minute," Beckett interrupted. "How do you know all this?"

"Chester's wife, Sharon, called our Kingston office today after she'd heard about the explosion and the victims in the news, and couldn't reach her husband on his cell."

Castle swore under his breath, voicing his wife's feelings, too.

"After he found out as much as he could about Michael on the net and through old connections, Chester borrowed the identity of Edward Byrd and came to Shandaken in May. He and Sharon are avid hikers and usually spent their vacation in the Blue Ridge Mountains, where they met the real Byrd several times. Byrd had worked in the UT's department of human resources in Knoxville and took early retirement after an inheritance. He bought an RV and spends most of the year driving through rural America, especially the Appalachians, collecting stories. Right now he's supposedly traveling through Quebec and New Brunswick, and we can safely assume that he's okay. Sharon says that Byrd doesn't know about Chester using his name."

"And his credentials," Castle interjected.

"Those, too. Anyway, according to Sharon Chester, her husband was convinced that Hansen is deeply involved in a far-right militant movement right here in the Catskills. She e-mailed me his notes – he observed a meeting one evening between Hansen and Bradley Schmidt, a known radical from Pittsburgh. The two men left in Schmidt's jeep and drove down Finlayson Dell Lane, where he couldn't follow them by car without drawing attention to himself. You'll have noticed that there are only a dozen homes or so between Oliverea Road and the entrance to Serpent Valley. So he got out his night vision goggles and went after them on foot, walking parallel to the road."

"He came prepared," Castle was impressed. "But I thought Michael and Amber lived in the lodge. Why follow these guys when they were in all probability just coming here?"

"Because in that case they'd either taken both cars or Hansen's," Beckett answered.

"From what I've heard Chester was a bloodhound," Williamson added. "And his instincts were right, as it turned out. Though he wasn't familiar with the area, he located the fire trail that continues from the end of the road into the woods. After another mile of hiking in the dark he came upon the Jeep, parked at the side of the road, with no sign of Schmidt or Hansen. He hid nearby and waited the two returned until an hour later, and with them a dozen men and women, carrying empty backpacks. Hansen told them that he expected the next delivery within the fortnight and to keep their eyes peeled for his signal. One of the men asked how many boxes would come and Michael answered 'one hundred and fifty', whereupon a woman said 'that's another thirty thousand'. Chester deduced that they were talking about rifle cartridges, since there can be bought in boxes of two hundred. Schmidt and Hansen left in the Jeep, the others on foot in the opposite direction."

"Chester suspected that a group of right-wingers are building up an arsenal and he didn't go to the police with it?" Beckett asked incredulously.

"That's the tricky part," Scott Williamson scratched his beard. "He couldn't see the faces of the people with Hansen and Schmidt clearly enough to recognize any of them, and he couldn't rule out that members of the local force aren't part of the group."

"So that's where we come in," Castle noted. "How do we know you're not involved?"

"You don't."

"What about the FBI?" Beckett was far from satisfied. "Or better the ATF. It's their bailiwick anyway."

"He felt he needed more than what he had. They could have been talking about Halloween candy. That's why he decided to follow Schmidt, reasoning that a stranger wouldn't stand out as much in Pittsburgh as in Shandaken."

"Did it net him anything?"

"More reasons for suspicion, no proof. Schmidt didn't go back to Pittsburgh immediately, he made stops near, though never in, Horace, Trade Point, and Porterfield, all places in Pennsylvania with populations between 1,000 and 2,000."

"What did he do there?" Castle asked. "Pit stops?"

"Chester didn't follow him, he would have been noticed. He managed to trace him with a GPS data logger he'd put on the jeep the night before. He assumed Schmidt was meeting other village revolutionaries, mounting a joint operation."

"In places that small, what kind of operation could that be?" Beckett shook her head. "How many followers could he hope to garner there?"

"Maybe more than we think. People in small communities are often very conservative," her husband pointed out. "And they know how to use a rifle. Come to think, maybe it isn't about the people but the locale. Acres of woodland to hide your cache of weapons in. Are there woods around those places, Williamson?"

The investigator nodded.

"I still don't see it. All that happened in May and had there been an incident involving a militia group and thirty thousand rounds of ammo it would have made the news. What are they waiting for?"

"Thanksgiving," Williamson said.

"What?" Beckett and Castle exclaimed as one.

"Chester was on a mission. He couldn't get near Schmidt in person, but he managed to place a bug near the front door of his house, which recorded a lot of how are yous and see you soons, and twice the muffled word 'turkey', which confused him no end as he couldn't find any connection between Schmidt and the state of Turkey. It only became clear when two visitors left at the same time, one saying 'don't forget to buy a turkey even if you won't eat it'."

"That could mean that the Steelers are playing on Thanksgiving and the other man has tickets," Kate objected. "If it's an away game he would miss dinner."

"She really likes hard facts," Castle said apologetically. "With good reason, of course."

His wife tried in vain to suppress a smile.

"I can see how Chester arrived at this conclusion," she acknowledged. "But it's my job, and yours, too, Mr. Williamson, to question his assumptions."

"I completely agree with you. Chester's stay at the Paradise Lodge was his last-ditch effort to learn something more substantial, before he took everything to the authorities. But now he's dead."

"Is it possible that he tried to open the safe with … no, he couldn't have miscalculated the force of the explosion to that extend," Castle killed his own theory.

"Sharon Chester is adamant that her husband wouldn't ever use explosives or endanger the lives of innocent people like that," Williamson became his accessory after the fact.

"What about wrong place, wrong time?"

"That makes more sense than any other theory I've heard so far," Beckett replied. "But what about the woman who died? Wrong place, wrong time, too?"

"Or she was the bomber and Chester killed her to prevent the explosion," Castle speculated. "But even mortally wounded she was determined to carry out her mission at all cost and, taking her final breath, clasped her hands around the remote in a deadly grip."

"Nice try, but she died before the bombs went off," Williamson countered. "I think we'd better rejoin the group now. I'll let Chris Mills know as soon as I can, but what I've told you can't go no further. Even Don Nguyen should be left out for now, the fewer people know, the better. Can I trust you with that?"

"How are you going to proceed?" Beckett sidestepped the question.

"By taking a long, hard look at the Walsh family, identifying the weak link and getting some leverage against Michael from him or her. Now that we can rule out Byrd/Chester as the bomber, it has to be one of the family. Or do you really believe someone got in and out of the valley on a hypothetical path that 20 years ago a teenager claimed to have found?"

Before Beckett and Castle could answer, the outer door opened.

"Here you are!" Karuka George exclaimed. "Travis Anderson came through. We found the way into the valley he discovered, and it's been used recently."

* * *

"Any news from the lab about the bomb's components or the cameras?" Beckett inquired, as they followed the Sergeant to the back of the powerhouse. "Or has Rome PD gotten back to you about Edward Byrd?"

She looked first at Castle, who nodded almost imperceptible, then at Williamson, who gave her the tiniest thumbs up possible.

"Unless Buckley's turned into Nico Rosberg, the cameras aren't at the lab yet, and no news from Rome."

"Maybe they try to live up to the meaning of 'Rome wasn't build in a day';" Castle offered.

"Feels like it at any rate," George stopped next to a thicket of hazelnuts. "Alright, just walk through the shrubbery until you reach a rock wall, follow that to the left to a black gum tree surrounded by something Don called 'mapleleaf viburnum'. It's a shrub with pinkish leaves and blue berries. At one point between the tree and the wall this viburnum looks a little battered and you can pass through quite easily. From there you'll find your way by yourself."

Following these instructions, the trio eventually came to a gap in the rock where they were met by Donald Nguyen.

"CSU at work in there," he pointed to the gap. "I don't know what they hope to find. You can take a look one at a time, there isn't room for more."

Williamson went first, shaking his head when he returned.

"Amazing," was all he said.

Beckett was next. The craggy triangular opening was four feet wide at the bottom, narrowing to less than two and a half feet at shoulder height, and she involuntarily ducked her head. To her surprise, she was out in the open again after taking no more than a dozen steps, and found herself at the bottom of a steep gorge, winding itself up for at least one hundred feet. A CSU member walked slowly into her line of sight thirty feet above and disappeared around the next bend.

She went back to let her husband take his own look.

"How do you know someone was here?" Castle asked after reemerging from the opening.

"We found footprints and a cigarette butt over there," Nguyen drew their attention to the corner of the passageway and two evidence markers just inside. "It couldn't have been there for more than a week."

"DNA, at last," Williamson said. "Are Chris and Mark with the CSU guys?"

"No, they're trekking through the woods outside the valley, looking for the way up on the other side," Nguyen answered. "Anderson's information is a little vague on that. There's a fire trail at the end of Finlayson Dell Lane with a very big and very old oak tree somewhere nearby he and his pal used as a marker. He remembers that they followed an animal trail they came across near said oak but left it at some spot that to them was perfectly recognizable then. He has no idea how far from the entrance of the fire trail the oak stood, how far it was from the oak to the animal trail or for how long they stayed on it. And the oak may be gone by now."

"They can always take it from the top, so to speak," Castle remarked. He didn't dare look at Beckett or Williamson, fearing Nguyen would pick up on the tension his mentioning the fire trail had caused.

"Uh, that might be a problem," the Investigator replied. "The boys entered the gorge by climbing down a twenty feet shaft on a rope, and unless whoever smoked that cig left his rope behind, we're out of luck. Again."

"If the dead woman came in that way, her rope should still be there," Beckett pointed out. "Unless she had an accomplice who got away."

"It's a size twelve print. I know because I put my foot next to it and it matched. That couldn't be the woman's."

"But it could be the man's," Castle continued the charade. "We still don't know whether it's Byrd or not."

"Whatever, we're back to twiddling our thumbs," Nguyen sad gloomily. "In another hour it will be too dark to search for the access point of the gorge."

"Did this guy, Anderson, right? … Did he remember who else knew about it?" Beckett asked.

"He says that he never told anybody the exact location, but if he found it, there's no reason to assume nobody else ever has."

"I wonder how the Walshes could have missed this," Williamson mused. "They've owned this valley for generations and as conscious about privacy and security as they are, it's funny they haven't closed off a way like this into their Garden of Eden. I mean, all they'd had to do was brick this gap over."

"They probably thought that having to climb a rope would keep people out," Nguyen reasoned.

"No way," Castle shook his head. "If they'd known about this, there'd be a tasteful plaque reading 'Trinity Gate' beside the opening, and the gorge would have handrails and be known as 'Jacob's Ladder'. Besides, it might serve as a natural drainage in rain storms, so closing the exit would cause problems."

"You really dig this place, don't you?" Nguyen commented. "I bet the Walshes would be happy to use those names."

"And I would be honored if they did."

"I think they have other things on their minds right now," Beckett put in. "Like two dead people in the ruins of their home. Maybe we should go back to the trailer and try to find out how that came about."

"I need to stay and babysit the CSUs," Nguyen declined. "But there's no reason for all of us to hang around here while Karuka's manning headquarters all by her lonesome. Or should that be womanning?"

"I'd love to argue semantics with you, but I have to agree with my wife that we have work to do."

The FIU investigator gave a mock salute and disappeared through the newly dubbed Trinity Gate.

* * *

"Looks like Don's warming to you, Castle," Williamson observed, as they were safely out of earshot.

"My charm usually wins them over somewhere along the way. But what do you think about the fire trail as the starting point to the gorge's head? Can that be a coincidence?"

"It would be a big one," Williamson admitted. "Though why didn't Schmidt just drive up to the house with his load?"

"Because not all family members are in on Hansen's scheme."

"And the guests might wonder about a dozen boxes being carried through the grounds," Beckett added. "But I'm skeptical, too. Where can you hide an armory and be sure none of the guests accidentally stumbles onto it?"

"The guests usually don't do a lot of stumbling around," Castle offered.

"You couldn't just dig holes without somebody noticing," his wife went on. "The house and the parking garage wouldn't work for the same reason. Hiding weapons and ammo in the power station would be far too risky."

"And we've searched it, making sure there weren't any other bombs," Williamson said.

"Well, that leaves the chicken coop."

"Actually, we've searched that one, too."

"What about caves?" Castle asked. "There could be any number of those."

"The dogs would have found them."

"They didn't find the gorge."

"Because they were searching for explosives."

"Um, yeah. I got carried away, I guess. Is there any way to fool the dogs?"

"Only if your cache is airtight. A vacuum chamber might do."

Beckett and Castle shuddered.

"Did I say something wrong?"

"No, it's just that we've seen was a vacuum chamber can do to a human body," Beckett explained. "It wasn't pretty."

"Please spare me the details."

"Don't worry, we'll leave it to your imagination," Castle promised.

"So we're still assuming that whatever Hansen and his group hid isn't ..." Beckett's question was cut off by the ringing of Williamson's phone.

"It's the lab," he announced and answered the call.

"Yes … right … that's what we … what? No, of course that's far better … and you could match it? Really … who'd have thought he'd be that careless … thank you … yes, that might exactly be what breaks the case … dinner? Come on, it's your job after all … yeah, I remember the high school case … and the junkyard case … okay, I'll call you … I swear I will … look, I really gotta go … bye."

He shook his head in resignation and put the phone in his pocket.

"Good news," he said. "The lab wanted to know if we really want them to try and trace the cameras back to where they were bought or if the prints they found on all of them would be enough."

"Whose prints?" Beckett and Castle asked as one.

"Tyler Walsh's. At last we've got something to work with. If we ask him the right questions, he might lead us to whatever else is happening in this valley. We should bring him in immediately."

"Wait a moment," Beckett stopped him. "Where are the Walshes staying?"

"As far as I know, Melissa and Dennis are staying with her cousin in Pine Hill. Amber, Michael, and Tyler are in a small cottage that's only rented out from April to September. Why?"

"Does the cottage have a smoke detector? I think it's time to take William Chester's findings to a judge."

"Devious," Williamson grinned.

"My wife," Castle said proudly.

"But you said it yourself – we have no direct proof of anything."

"Do you have an in with someone from ATF or FBI? It would look good if we'd had an agent to bolster our argument before a judge."

Williamson shook his head.

"I've met some of the agents, but don't know any of them well enough that they'd just take my word in a case like this. And it would take too much time to really convince them – we can't leave the others in the dark about those fingerprints much longer."

"Speaking of them, here comes Nguyen," Castle murmured. "And he's in a hurry."

The investigator was indeed almost running.

"You won't believe this," he gasped as he reached them. "There was no rope. No need for one because somebody installed ladder rungs in the shaft. CSU says they must have been there for several years and in regular use. This whole investigation gets weirder by the minute."

"I couldn't agree more," Williamson said faintly.

"At least Carlson and your buddy can stop looking for the way up," Nguyen added. "I've already called them and they're on their way back."

He fell into step with them and they went to the RV together, where a bored Karuka George was holding the fort.

"Since we're waiting for Carlson and Mills to get back, we could take a short break and find a spot where we have reception," Beckett said to Castle. "Just to see if someone tried to call us. With the lodge's landline down, it's the only way we can be reached."

Castle didn't see any real necessity to do what his wife was proposing but thought it better to play along.

"Let the family know we haven't been arrested," he agreed. "Shall we pick up some pizza on the way?"

"I'm pretty sure we'll be taking the show to our station soon," George declined. "But thanks for offering."

"Don't solve this while we're away. I'd be devastated."

"We'll do our best, Mr. Castle."

* * *

"What are you up to?" Castle asked Beckett, as they drove towards the guard house.

"Hopefully calling in a favor," she answered, waving to Officer Caldwell who stood sentry at the lodge's guard house. "Could you keep an eye on your cell and tell me when we've left the dead zone?"

"Sure. Nice pun, by the way. And who are you planning to ask for what?"

"Damn!" Beckett hit the brakes. A hundred yards ahead yellow police tape had been drawn across Finlayson Dell Road, with two officers on one, and nearly a dozen reporters on the other side of it.

"That could be a problem," Castle commented. "Too bad I didn't bring a wig and a false moustache."

"Maybe they won't recognize you because they expect you to be with Nick Storm."

"I thought of you wearing the moustache."

"That would give them something to write about. Well, it can't be helped. Ready to be limelighted?"

"As ready as I can be."

They drove up slowly to the officers, one of whom peered into the car, the nodded to her colleague who rolled up the tape as far as necessary for them to pass. A few unintelligible questions were called out and cameras started clicking, their flashes invading the car, but due to their small number, the reporters didn't slow them down for long. Less than five minutes later Castle reported that he had reception and Beckett parked the car on the side of the road and took out her phone. Castle rubbernecked to watch his wife look up and dial the number of the FBI's office in New York.

"This is Captain Beckett, NYPD. Is Agent Shaw in? … Yes, I'll hold."

"Of course," Castle muttered. "Why didn't I think of it?"

"Jordan? This is Kate Beckett. Castle and I could use your help."

* * *

A cavalcade of law enforcement vehicles appeared in the mirror of Beckett's and Castle's car. The first one stopped beside them, and Mark Carlson rolled down the window on the passenger side.

"You know where the station is?" he asked when Beckett had done the same.

They answered in the negative, got the necessary directions and watched the convoy pass them like floats at a parade. The unis in the second and third car ignored them, Donald Nguyen in the next one gave a little wave, and the man riding shotgun in the CSU van stared at them. The last car, driven by Scott Williamson, stopped next to them. Beckett lowered her window again.

"If someone asks – I'm ribbing you about calling home like teenagers," Christopher Mills stated. "If you've got something to tell us, call my cell."

Castle furiously punched in the number Mills recited quickly and was rewarded by Johnny Cash singing "Ring of Fire" out of the other man's windbreaker. Mills winked and took the call while his partner put the car into gear.

"You're on speaker," he announced.

"Likewise," Beckett responded. "Good news. An FBI agent we know is on the phone to their office in Albany right now. If things go well, another agent will drive down with a warrant to bug the cottage Michael Hansen is staying in. He'll call me for the exact address."

"Carlson or George will know," Williamson put in. "I'll pretend to have gotten the news about Tyler's prints just now and ask them to prepare a search warrant just in case."

"How do we get the Hansens out of the place?" Mills inquired. "We can question Tyler at the station, but we have nothing on Amber or Michael."

"I'm sure they'll come to the station, too, for moral support," Castle said. "If not, you could bring Amber in to describe the layout of the office and the exact position of the crossbow. Michael has to accompany her, it just wouldn't do not to. Especially if she's convinced he's having an affair."

"We have another problem," Beckett pointed out. "Time. We have to stall Tyler's interview to give the agent time to get here. Can you make a fuss about jurisdiction and who's doing the questioning?"

"Don't think so," Mills answered. "We've been working together on other cases and always gotten along well. It would look suspicious if we start to upset the apple cart now."

"Wait, didn't you say the cottage isn't rented year-round?" Castle was hit by an inspiration. "We're thinking far too complicated. Why don't we look it up on the web?"

"On it," Mills replied, sounding aggrieved. "I'll call you back."

He did so two minutes later.

"Halcott Mountain Cottages. It's a small place, only three cottages, named Margaret, Helen, and Teddy, the latter being the one we're looking for. I'll text you the address."

* * *

Two hours of going over the scanty evidence later, Scott Williamson went out to do what a man's got to do in the bathroom and phoned his colleague. Christopher Mills did a credible acting job neither overdoing the fist pumping nor giving his facial muscles a complete workout. He then related the so-called news of Tyler Walsh's prints on the cameras to the others, whose reactions went from disbelief on Carlson's side to Nguyen's elated 'yes'. After a short discussion it was decided to pick Tyler up immediately to be questioned by George and Carlson.

Beckett, Castle, and the two State Police investigators were relieved to see Amber and Michael Hansen as well as Melissa and Dennis Walsh arriving shortly after. Beckett texted from the ladies' room an 'all clear' to FBI agent Bell, who had notified her an hour before that he was on his way to Shandaken with the warrant and the necessary equipment to bug 'Teddy'. She squeezed herself into the small room behind the two-way mirror, which was already occupied by Williamson, Mills, Nguyen, and her husband in time to see Tyler Walsh brought into the interview room by George, who sat down next to Carlson, opposite the young man.

After going through the usual preliminaries, Carlson took the photographs of the camera-rigged smoke detectors out of a file and placed them in front of Tyler.

"We found these in the bedrooms of three Paradise Lodge cabins," he said calmly. "What can you tell me about it?"

"We have smoke detectors in the bedrooms of every cabin," Tyler answered, his voice quivering a little. "It's the law."

"Smoke detectors, yes," George replied. "Spyware, no. Quite the contrary."

"Spyware?" Tyler repeated feebly.

"The cameras," Carlson tapped on one of the photographs with his index finger. "Pointing towards the beds and recording every motion."

"I don't know anything about cameras or spyware."

"Then why are your prints on all of them?" George asked, leaning across the table, causing Walsh to shrink back on his chair.

Carlson motioned his sergeant to slow down.

"Tyler, please listen to me," he urged him. "Installing cameras in bedrooms is a felony, and that means prison time, up to four years. And you might end up on the sex offender registry, too. The latter depends in part of why you put up the cameras, so talk to us. We can't help you otherwise."

"I didn't do anything," Tyler insisted. "I must have touched these things when I changed the smoke detectors' batteries."

"Yeah, sure," George remarked drily. "And you never wondered why some of the detectors had this additional gadget and others didn't?"

Tyler started to fidget. Carlson and George just looked at him in silence, until the young man couldn't stand the tension any longer.

"Okay, I put the cameras into the detectors," he blurted out. "I did it because I suspected Mike to use the cabins to meet with his lover. But I never downloaded the app to use them."

"Wow. That's a good one," Castle declared. "I didn't see it coming."

"Me neither," Williamson mumbled disappointedly.

"Could he actually be telling the truth?" Nguyen asked hesitantly.

"No way," Mills and Castle answered simultaneously.

"How could he be sure Michael and his lover would end up in one of the camera-equipped cabins any time soon?" the former reasoned.

"It would have been more effective to track Michael's phone and sneak up on him as soon as he went into one of the cabins," the latter added.

"Shh," Beckett hissed.

"... so excuse my skepticism," George said on the other side of the mirror. "I believe you're just a little pervert ..."

A knock on the door interrupted her. Officer Silva escorted an angular, white-haired man, whose wrinkled face was dominated by incongruously black and bushy eyebrows.

"Good evening, everyone," he said. "Tyler, your parents retained me as your attorney. Mark, Karuka, what's this about?"

After the Lieutenant had informed him about the situation, the lawyer requested time alone with his client. Nguyen shut off the speakers in the adjacent room and the five onlookers met with Carlson and George in the bull pen.

"Let me guess – El Mago," Nguyen commented.

"The Wizard himself," George nodded. "Aka Antonio Garza, attorney-at-law."

"He moved to Phoenicia five years ago and opened a one-man practice," Carlson explained. "Before that he was head of a very busy law firm in Rochester, specializing in contract law, but with a policy of taking every case related to the Hispanic community. He got his nickname by succeeding in almost every legal subject, and don't ask me how he got that."

"Nowadays he usually sticks to contracts," George added. "I don't know why the Walshes chose him to represent Tyler. Or why he agreed to do it."

"Out of boredom," Mills suggested. "I wonder how he'll be trying to explain Tyler's confession away.

His curiosity was satisfied ten minutes later, when Garza asked George and Carlson back into the interview room.

"My client withdraws his confession, which he made just so he wouldn't look like a complete imbecile for not realizing that the cameras weren't part of the smoke detectors," Garza told the two officers opposite him. "You can check his phone for traces of the app, but that you won't find any. The way I see it, you'll risk having the DA question your common sense if you charge Tyler with unlawful surveillance based on what you have. I suggest that we all go home now. If you have further question, feel free to contact me. You have my number."

"We don't have the equipment to examine his phone properly," Carlson said. "We have to take it to Kingston."

"We can drive in convoy as far as Phoenicia. Tyler, hand over your phone to the officers. You'll get it back soon."

"Give us half an our to decide on how we're going to proceed."

"You can have all the time in the world, but Tyler and I are leaving in five minutes sharp."

* * *

"I hate to say it, but Garza has a point," Carlson admitted to the group of observers as they got together in the bull pen again. "I don't think Tyler's cell will net us anything or Garza wouldn't have let us have it without a warrant."

"Maybe he's playing for time," Castle advanced, unconvinced.

"We'll keep an eye on Tyler – just in case Garza tries to drive him to the airport in Albany and buys him a one-way ticket to Brazil," George replied deadpan.

"Any suggestions as to how we can get the charges to stick?" Carlson asked. "No one? Alright, I'll tell them."

"You know what?" Nguyen asked nobody in particular. "I think Garza's idea about going home has some merit. Apart from the fact that we don't even know if this business with the cameras has anything to do with the bombs, I doubt there's anything else we can do tonight."

"I agree," Beckett said. "Though I don't like to. I wish we'd been of more help. If it's okay with you all we'll come back in the morning for a few hours."

"Sounds like a plan," Carlson appeared at her elbow. Behind him Tyler Walsh and Antonio Garza were leaving. "See you all back here at, say, 7.30. Don, Scott, Chris, safe driving. Good night, everyone."

With the exception of the Lieutenant himself and Karuka George, they all gathered their belongings and walked to the door.

"Oh, Sergeant," Castle turned back. "We have an extradition treaty with Brazil."

* * *

Outside Beckett waited until Nguyen had driven off the parking lot before taking out her cell, which had vibrated just as Garza had announced his intention to leave with his client.

"I've got a message from Agent Bell," she informed the remaining trio of men. "'Done. 1 Links Rd W, red van'. Let's meet there, okay?"

"Wherever that is, we'll be there," Mills promised solemnly.

Castle took the wheel and following the instruction the navigation app provided, drove in a wide arch to a closed down inn on the other side of the Esopus. A red, windowless Ram ProMaster was the sole occupant of the small parking lot, which nature was in the process of taking back. Beckett and Castle gaped.

"I don't believe this," she said weakly.

"Obviously Agent Bell isn't a big fan of inconspicuousness," he observed.

The van wasn't just red, it was candy apple red, with the word 'believe' painted in three feet capitals on its sides, and an enormous satellite dish surrounded by an outcropping of antennas on the roof.

When they parked next to it, a stick-thin woman as tall as Castle got out of the rear door and waved them over.

"Stephanie Bell," she introduced herself. "Call me Steph. Get in, please."

Inside the van looked like a scaled-down NASA mission control center. Screens in various sizes with graphs crossing and uncrossing, numbers marching in orderly columns, or pulsating dots dancing around each other created a mind-numbing tapestry on one side. A row of speakers in front of the bulkhead divider clicked, moaned, swooshed or creaked, but Bell silenced them with a few taps on a keyboard.

"Most of it is camouflage," Bell told the startled couple. "Just random data created by computer programs. But some serve an actual purpose."

As if on cue one of the graphs peaked suddenly, followed by a loud beep. Bell pressed a button at the side of the screen and the graphs were replaced by camera footage of a car driving up Links Road towards them.

"Stay here," Bell ordered. "If they are cops who demand to look in, wink at them, try to take them aside, and pretend you're checking me out because you know me by reputation and are suspicious of me for being in the area right now. Insinuate anything you want. The name on my driver's license is Brandi Hudson."

She switched to another camera, showing the car parking next to Beckett's and Castle's and two men getting out.

"These are the staties we're working with," Castle recognized Mills and Williamson, who seemed to be as taken aback by the van's appearance as he and Beckett had been.

"It's going to be a little crowded in here," Bell left the van and ushered the investigators in. She was right.

After the introductions were done Bell, repeated her spiel about Brandi Hudson, the ufologist suspected to be more than she seemed to be.

"Which is actually the truth," Castle interjected. Beckett would have elbowed him in the ribs had she been able to move her arm for more than a couple of inches.

"I suggest that one of you sits with me in the driver's cabin and listens to the stuff I've recorded so far," Bell said. "The judge restricted the surveillance to audio only, I'm afraid. As far as I can tell, nothing important has been said until you arrived, with the lawyer being there, too, but since I don't know all the details, you might pick up on something I missed."

She eyed Scott Williamson's lanky frame.

"There's more legroom in front and contrary to Rick here you're an officer of the law, which makes you the obvious choice."

"Okay with me," Williamson agreed and got up, bumping his head on Gillian Anderson's knees, whose life-sized likeness was taped to the ceiling alongside David Duchovny's.

"I didn't expect a whole platoon, so I've only got four headsets. This is the switch for the speakers. If this monitor beeps, turn it off, okay?"

The remaining three nodded mutely. As soon as the rear doors had closed behind Bell and Williamson, Mills mouthed an eloquent 'wow'." Castle nodded vigorously. Beckett turned on the speakers.

For the next five minutes they listened to Antonio Garza explaining the possible scenarios Tyler might be facing to the Walsh family. As soon as he had left, the conservation became interesting.

"How could you be so stupid," Michael exploded. "Why didn't you wear gloves for heaven's sake?"

"Why do you cheat on my sister, making her kill that woman?" Tyler shot back.

"For the last time, I'm not having an affair! As I told both of you over and over again, the woman I met in Kingston was a courier from the inner circle. Just that."

"You spent the night with her in a posh hotel," Amber accused him. "And you smelled of her when you came home – sneaking in at 6 a.m."

Beckett pictured Michael Hansen speaking through clenched teeth.

"We could hardly discuss the mission in a bar, don't you think? So we took a room and she left at midnight. As to your nose's delusions, I took a shower at the hotel to wake up after less than four hours of sleep, and I used the soap provided by the hotel."

"Then why don't you tell me her name?" Amber challenged him.

"To what purpose? You wouldn't believe me anyway. And even if there was a reason to tell you, I can't because I don't know her name."

"Yeah, right. The inner circle trusts you to lead a mission like 'Turkey Riot' but not with the name of their messenger. Totally believable."

"They operate on a need-to-know basis, and I didn't need to know her name. I believe she didn't know mine either. But since nothing I can say will convince you of my innocence, could we try to solve the problems your idiot of a brother created?"

"Now, Michael, that's not fair," Dennis Walsh protested. "It isn't his fault that someone attacked us and the police stumbled over the cameras."

"But his carelessness has put us squarely in the middle of the investigation. If it weren't for his prints, we could have steered the cops towards one of the college kids working summers at the lodge, like the girl who was almost kicked out of Bard after visiting a casino in New York City during spring break."

"We can still do that but I don't see how it helps us getting the cops off our property," Melissa Walsh spoke up. "That should be our first priority, lest they stumble on our depot."

"They're all in on it," Castle's eyebrows threatened to join forces with his hair. "And Chester was right after all."

"... is safe for now, and none of us should go near it until we're off the cop's radar," Hansen replied. "And as far as I can see, there's only one way to go about it. Tyler has to man up and confess to making sex tapes for his own 'needs'. I'm sure Garza will get him a good deal."

"You bastard!" Tyler shouted and the next minute was filled with the tell-tale sounds of a scuffle.

"Enough of that!" Melissa's commanding tone finally stopped the fight. "Everyone sit down. Now!"

"Mom, he wants me to go to prison," Tyler whined.

"Do you have a better idea?" Michael panted.

"I might," Dennis was breathing hard, too, from trying to keep his son and son-in-law apart, the listeners guessed. "We give them the solution to the bigger crime. That will keep them occupied until Turkey Riot has gone through, and no one will give a shit about those tapes then."

"And what solution do you intend to present?"

"That's easy. Amber tells them that she surprised the woman breaking in and ran for help. Byrd was the first one she met, and he rushed into the office before she could stop him. Worried about him - he wasn't a young man, after all - she followed, saw the woman hit him over the head with that silly garden gnome and grabbed the crossbow. When the woman didn't back down, Amber shot her in self-defense."

"Dad!" his daughter cried out.

"You know, Dennis, that might actually work out," Hansen said slowly. "And the beauty of it is how close it comes to the truth."

"Mike!" Amber was desperate. "I can't go to prison!"

"Don't get your knickers in a twist, darling, you heard your father: self-defense. You'll get a slap on the wrist for lying to the cops, if at all."

"What if they don't believe me?"

"Then Garza will get you out on bail, and after our mission is accomplished, all this will be forgotten."

"That goes for Tyler, too."

"I didn't kill anyone!"

"Maybe both of you should confess," Michael snapped.

"Shut up, everyone!" Judging from the sudden increase in the volume of her voice, Melissa Walsh must have changed position and ended up next to one of the bugs. Beckett, Castle, and Mills jumped, then held their breath, praying that Stephanie Bell had done a good job hiding the devices in the short time she had had.

"We will sleep on it," Melissa declared, her voice receding a little. Her invisible audience gave a collective sigh of relief, smiling ruefully at each other. "There's nothing we can do tonight anyway. Can I trust you to stay off each other's throats? Keep in mind that calling any extra attention to ourselves is the last thing we need."

Her admonition was met with grumbling assent and the senior Walshes left shortly thereafter. A door was slammed, presumably by Tyler, who kept muttering unintelligibly to himself, while Amber and Michael kept up their bickering over the nameless woman in the Kingston hotel.

"Pay dirt," Mills expressed the trios mutual feeling.

"I'd been hoping to hear something we could use to use to put pressure on Tyler, but I didn't expect this," Beckett admitted.

"Do we agree that the weapons must be hidden in the valley?" Castle asked. "That's what I concluded from Melissa's remark about the police finding their armory by accident."

"So did I," his wife nodded. "I just can't imagine where that should be."

"We should go and look for it."

"Has there ever been a treasure hunt you didn't join when you had the chance?"

"No."

"Err, not to rain on your parade, but it's pitch dark" Mills piped up. "How to you plan to find something so well hidden we haven't already found it in the first place? You'd need an army for that."

"I don't think so," Beckett disagreed. "The weapons and especially the ammo have to be stored in a dry environment, that leaves out caves or simply digging up the flower beds."

"Not to mention that you'd have noticed if the ground that had been disturbed repeatedly anywhere in the valley," Castle added. "It has to be inside a building."

"As implausible as that sounds, any other hiding place makes even less sense."

"Unless the arsenal is accessible through a hollow tree or a trapdoor disguised by artificial plants."

"I didn't say 'impossible', I said 'less sense'."

"Then we should search the powerhouse."

"But we did that," Mills objected.

"You were searching for bombs," Beckett reminded him. "Has it been checked out by people or did you send the dogs in?"

"Well, after the dogs came up empty, there was no reason to waste manpower on another search."

"Absolutely right. But now that the circumstances have changed, human input is called for."

"I see your point. But we can't all go, someone's got to stay with agent Bell and monitor Tyler and the Hansens," Mills stated. "I volunteer to keep track of their snores."

"Don't you like the outdoors at night or are you being noble?" Castle inquired.

"Neither. But Scott's married and I'm not. Maybe Bell's single and interested. Or just the latter."

* * *

Half an hour later Beckett, Castle, and Williamson entered the powerhouse again. They had decided beforehand to begin their search in the turbine room itself. Beckett and Williamson donned the earmuffs from the desk while Castle, having lost a game of roshambo to the investigator, had to content himself with cotton wool and a pair of high-end headphones provided by Stephanie Bell.

A spiral staircase led down into a room roughly twice as large as the one above. The roar of falling water and the machines' clattering was audible even to their protected ears, the volume akin to a Manhattan dance club on a Friday night.

Two large metal cabinets stood side by side at the wall opposite the water basin, protected from the water spray by an acrylic glass partition, sporting high voltage safety symbols. Castle pointed at them, took out his notebook and pen, wrote '2 transformers?' and held it up for Beckett and Williamson to read.

'U sure it's transf.?' the former wrote back.

Castle took out his cell phone and showed them a screenshot depicting a schematic drawing of a small hydro station that validated his identification.

'Backup?' Williamson suggested.

'Duh," Castle mouthed. He hesitated, then went behind the partition and gingerly opened the door of the right-hand cabinet. Behind it was a second door with a mortise lock. He tried the other cabinet and found the same obstacle. Just to be thorough, Williamson tried he key he had opened the door to the turbine room with, but to no avail.

Their next step was trying to move the cabinets, just to find that they were bolted to the wall as well as the floor.

Disappointed Castle started to slide his hands over the wall, searching for indentations. Williamson did the same with the floor. Beckett stood in front of the cabinets, lost in thought.

Finally she closed her eyes and put her hand first on the inner door's surface of the cabinet nearer to the stairs, then on the other's. After repeating the process twice she was sure that the second one vibrated slightly and gave the first a thorough examination. She felt close to victory when she discovered that the lock could be pushed in an inch, but nothing happened.

A little later something touched her shoulder. She jumped, spun around and, striking out reflexively, delivered a solid cross at her husband's rib cage.

Castle winced in pain but waved away her mortified apologies and pointed to the wall next to the cabinet. A double plug socket had come loose, hanging only on one screw, exposing a tiny keypad. Beckett and Castle high-fived, then turned to look for Williamson. The investigator was on all fours with his back to them, scrutinizing the floor next to the generator. Castle massaged his ribs and mouthed 'gun', Beckett nodded and helped herself to her husband's notebook. She wrote 'Boo!' and expertly slid it over towards the generator, where it bumped against Williamson's hand. The man started violently and his hand went to his holster, but had assessed the situation before he had drawn his Glock. He took out a pen instead and wrote down his own message that turned out to be '*** [string of expletives]'.

The mood rapidly changed from a sense of victory to a feeling of helplessness as they gazed at the keypad.

'Same model as door, 6 digits,' Williamson surmised. 'Try cherub?'

'Or DOB,' Beckett replied. 'Melissa? Michael?'

'How many tries b4 slf-dstr?' Castle asked. Williamson lifted three fingers. Castle nodded and used his pen to punch the tiny keys.

At first glance everything remained unchanged, but when Beckett looked at the fake transformer cabinet she realized that the inner door had opened a few inches. Williamson motioned her back and leaning around the corner used his gun to slowly widen the crack. They all tensed as a light came on inside the cabinet, but nothing further happened. Finally Williamson risked a quick glance and discovered an opening in the wall behind the empty cabinet that let into a narrow passageway. Weapon drawn, he cautiously went in, followed by Castle, with Beckett, her own gun unholstered, bringing up the rear.

Ten feet down the corridor yet another door awaited them, though this one did not pose a problem, since it opened without protest when Castle turned its lock wheel.

LED panels turned on automatically, illuminating a large room filled with dozens of boxes. Williamson opened a smaller one which held cartons of rifle cartridges. The matching rifles weren't hard to find.

Castle dragged the smallest container halfway across the threshold to prevent the door from closing. His wife risked removing her earmuffs and found the noise of the turbine hall diminished to a distant growl. The men followed her example.

"You could equip a small army with that stuff," Castle observed.

"I think that was the plan," Williamson replied dryly. "Good work, guys. How did you notice the fake plug socket?"

"Because it suddenly appeared," Castle answered in an equally wry tone of voice.

Beckett told them about pushing the lock and asked her husband about the code he had entered.

"Eight-eight-seven-five-three-nine," he said. "Turkey."

The others groaned a little.

"You do have the mindset of a conspirator," Williamson allowed.

"That's why I decided to be a writer. All the fun but if things go wrong I can always hit the delete button and start over again."

"Looks like the Walshes won't start over again," Beckett commented. "It's a wonder they could keep this secret for such a long time. According to their pamphlet, they build this micro hydro in the early aughts. The construction crew must be part of their troop."

"Absolutely," Williamson agreed. "It must have been a rather small workers' gang. Do you think it was planned as an armory right away?"

"I guess this started out as the group's headquarter-cum-survival shelter. It's not equipped to store an arsenal – no cabinets or cupboards."

"Just a mess of unlabeled boxes I'd like to peek in before we alert Agent Bell and the ATF. Just in case a members' list is lying around somewhere."

They searched diligently but the only piece of paper they found was an empty envelope with a crudely drawn turkey armed to its tomia on the back.

"Let's pray for prints," Castle said, replacing ballistic vests in a box at the far end of the room. "Or for one of the Walsh family to spill their guts."

"And most importantly – let others deal with it," Williamson handed his satellite phone to Beckett. "I'll stay down here 'til the big guns arrive. Pun intended."

"What about the local law?" she asked. "Not to mention Nguyen. They will resent having been left out of the loop as it is, and rightly so, but finding their crime scene overrun by the Feds without warning would be adding insult to injury."

"I'm with you on that, but it will be Bell's or whoever they put in charge's responsibility. I'll apologize in the morning."

* * *

It was almost 3 a.m. when Agent Bell and her ATF counterpart were done questioning Beckett and Castle and the couple was able to escape to Doubletop Cabin.

"Seeing all these rifles and handguns gave me the creeps," Castle admitted, toothbrush in hand. "Whatever this group of maniacs had planned for their Turkey Riot, it would have ended in a bloodbath."

"William Chester deserves a medal," Kate replied from the shower stall. "His instincts and doggedness made it possible to stop the Walshes."

"You know, with all this hubbub about the militia angle I completely forgot about Chester and Jane Doe. We still don't know who killed him or who she was and what they were doing in the office, not to mention the question of why the TNT was there."

"According to Tyler, Amber killed the woman, mistaking her for Michael's real or imagined love interest. Chester either surprised her and she hit him with the garden gnome or she went for help before deciding what to do next. Byrd walked in on a dead body and was killed by either Amber or whoever she had run to."

"And they deliberately blew up their home to cover it up?"

"Right, that's not likely."

They traded places.

"What about this," Castle said. "Jane Doe has been hired by one of the blackmail victims to destroy the incriminating tapes that she believes are in the safe. The second charge is a spare in case the first one doesn't work. She puts her backpack with the TNT on the floor next to the safe and starts to unpack when Amber walks in and kills her. She falls down next to the remote. Exit Amber, enter Chester. He sees the dead woman, and rolls her over to check for a pulse, thus accidentally detonating the bombs. The innocent garden gnome dies in the explosion, though he would have made a nice murder weapon."

"Sounds reasonable. And dejecting."

"True."

"If Jane Doe really got sent by a former guest, finding out who hired her will be pure drudgery, unless she's identified or the Walshes confess to blackmail and reveal their victims' names, which they won't. Going through the phone records of the lodge and identifying everyone who ever stayed here will take days, not to mention investigating them. Hopefully someone's filing a missing person's report soon."

"If she turns out to be from Vermont, I'd be able to help with identifying a guest. Early fifties, rosy skin, curly blond hair, clean shaven, about 5'8 or 5'9, a little paunchy. His companion was a twentysomething brunette, voluptuous shape, no more than 5 feet. He drove a silver Lamborghini Diablo with Vermont plates. Come to think of it, the brunette is either his wife or he's single – judging by the wheels of our fellow guests we saw in the parking garage, which I bet were all rentals, driving down in a flashy car like that must mean that he had nothing to hide."

"What on earth are you talking about?"

"I sat at the table next to them and another couple at a restaurant in Yaote, and they kept on raving about the lodge. Obviously it wasn't going to be their first visit. That's how I knew about the place."

"Wait a minute – you only heard about the lodge like what, ten days ago? And they had a vacancy? On a long weekend?"

"Yes. I almost couldn't believe my luck when they said someone had just called and canceled. Oh, I see. You're thinking how odd it is that someone forgoes a weekend here and then a bomb goes off at the time he planned to stay at the lodge."

"Exactly. I mean, it's probably just a coincidence, but on the other hand the number of coincidences is getting a little high for my taste."

"You're absolutely right. Or maybe it only looks suspicious right now because we're both dead on our feet."

"Could be. Let's sleep on it.

Kate turned off the light a few minutes later.

"Being up most of the night should be a good training for when we have our baby. If we ever get around to ..."

She was interrupted by soft snoring.

Smiling she kissed her husband lightly on the cheek, and without waking up he responded with a happy little grunt.

* * *

By midmorning the next day Kate and Castle had apprised Stephanie Bell of the couple in the Lamborghini and the cancellation. In return Bell let them know that the Walshes and Hansens had been arrested, ATF agents were on their way to Horace, Trade Point, and Porterfield and CSU was having a field day in the armory with fingerprints on almost every surface.

"I know you had to call in a favor from Jordan," the Agent told them as she saw them off. "But in my opinion we owe you."

"Actually, it's William Chester and his wife all of us are indebted to," Kate replied. "I hope their sacrifice will be acknowledged. Publicly."

"We won't go into too much detail with the press for several days, if not more, but when we do, the Chesters will be recognized. I'll see to that."

"Glad to here it," Castle said. "I'm thinking about naming a character in my next book after him, if his widow approves."

"I'm sure she will. Have a safe trip home."

* * *

"So there will be another book?" Kate asked as they drove towards the guardhouse.

"I think so," Castle answered. "But I've got nothing definitive so far. More like a feeling that there is a story out there, just not ready to show its face yet."

"Maybe it's hidden in a SEP field and you have to look at it out of the corner of your eyes."

"You're Douglas Adams-ing me?"

Kate smiled but turned serious again when hey turned on Finlayson Dell Lane.

"It's a shame that Paradise Lodge will go down the drain. So many great and beautiful ideas wasted."

"The Walshes might be forced to sell it to pay their lawyers, and I'm sure someone will jump at the opportunity."

"Castle?"

"No need to be alarmed, it's way out of our league. But maybe I can get Patterson interested in it."

"Remember to recommend the name 'Jacob's Ladder' for the gorge. It might net us a free weekend stay."

"You'd come back?"

"Why not? It's a great place, even if it was created by lunatics. Wouldn't you?"

"Absolutely. But first I'll get an app for detecting spyware."

"Is there an app to pass the fifth estate unnoticed, too?"

The reporters who had abandoned their posts the evening before in the wake of the law enforcement agencies' collective move to the police station had returned in full force. A TV van was parked a little down the road from the newly erected sawhorse barrier, guarded by half a dozen brawny men and one equally impressive woman in either FBI or ATF windbreakers.

"Create an SEP field," Castle suggested with a hint of satisfaction. "Or wave your hand and intone 'these aren't the humans you're looking for'."

Kate grimaced then hastily rearranged her expression to convey an aura of detached politeness.

After they had successfully navigated the journalistic bottle neck Kate resumed the thread.

"If the new owners stick to the Walshes' alias policy we might get registered as the DiMaggios."

"Want me to call you Marilyn?"

"She wouldn't be my first choice to be associated with, but not the last one by far. She met DiMaggio after he'd retired though."

"What about being the Berras? Would you call me Yogi?"

"In tantric moments, yes."

"I'll hold you to that promise. But for reasons of safety, we should hold off on the subject 'til we're back home."

* * *

They took a detour to say their farewells to the five people they'd spent most of the last days with. Entering the bull pen they became immediately aware of the chasm that had opened between Scott Williamson and Christopher Mills on the one and Donald Nguyen, Mark Carlson, Karuka George, and the other members of the Shandaken PD on the other side. The two BCI Investigators were given a wide berth, literally and figuratively, as they sat in one corner of the room with a view on everybody else's back. The looks Beckett and Castle got ranged from wary to hostile, too.

Beckett decided to grab the elephant standing in the middle of the room by the tusks.

"We've come to say good-bye and to apologize for the necessary secrecy we'd engaged in during the last twenty-four hours," she announced. "And to thank you for your hospitality."

"It wasn't your decision whom not to trust," Nguyen said pointedly. "NYPD or not, you're civilians here, after all."

"That's no excuse," a female officer objected. "On the contrary, you should either have taken our side or none at all. Taking the oath means that you trust a fellow officer, even if you're from the mighty NYPD."

"Trusting someone doesn't mean telling him or her everything you know," Beckett replied evenly. "And in this case not sharing information didn't mean we suspected any of you to be in cohorts with the Walshes. But had we laid all our cards on the table and something – anything – had gone sideways, each of you would be grilled by an ATF or FBI agent right now, as would Investigators Mills and Williamson, my husband and I."

"And as the former prime suspect in a gruesome murder I didn't commit, I can assure you that the experience isn't something you should put on your bucket list," Castle added.

Most of the officers kept their mutinous glares, with a few faces lapsing into reluctant thoughtfulness.

Beckett went over to Mark Carlson and offered him her hand and he took it.

"Being kept out of the loop is a bitch," he said, though without rancor.

"You'd have done the same had the roles been reversed."

"Of course. But they weren't."

"That's the nature of the beast, Lieutenant."

"Unfortunately, yes. I'll give Chief Fox your regards. He's been holed up with the DA since dawn."

"Please do that."

Castle shook hands with Carlson, too, and then followed his wife to Karuka George's desk.

"Make your round, I'll see you out," the Sergeant told them and lowered her voice. "Beware of Don Nguyen, he tends to crush your fingers when you've wounded his feelings."

"Thanks for the warning," Beckett murmured and headed towards the knuckle cruncher.

To her relief and Castle's disappointment, Nguyen kept his arms crossed and acknowledged their leave-taking with as few words as possible.

Williamson and Mills expressed their regret about getting them into this awkward situation.

"We could have kept out of it," Castle waved their apologies off. "But I'm glad we didn't, finding the arsenal is worth a little discomfort."

"And unlike you, we can just leave," Beckett said. "You'll have to keep working with them."

"Yes, the next weeks might be a little difficult," Mills allowed.

"Having the ATF poking around might discourage the local arsonists for a while," Castle consoled him.

"That still leaves accidental fires," Williamson replied gloomily. "Ah, well, we'll just keep our fingers crossed."

"Good luck with that," Beckett sympathized. "We'll see you if it comes to trial and we're asked to testify."

Together with Karuka George the couple went to the door, ignored by everyone except Officer Caldwell, who got up when they passed his desk.

"So I was right, you were undercover," he said in a low voice, leaning in. "Don't worry, my lips are sealed. Give my best to Mr. Storm."

Castle opened his mouth to respond but decided against it when he was poked sharply between the shoulder blades. Since his wife was ahead of him, the finger must belong to Karuka George. Once outside he turned to her expectantly. The sergeant did not disappoint.

"Fifteen years ago in December, Caldwell, his girlfriend, and his parents were on their way back from a birthday party," she related. "It was around midnight, the roads were slippery, with patches of ice here and there. Near Allaben Jake's mother lost control over the parents' car and it plunged into Esopus Creek, landing on its roof. Jake and Kristen were in his car right behind them and he went after them immediately. The Esopus is rather shallow most of the time, but that night the water level was over three feet. When the first responders arrived at the scene, he'd gotten both his parents out, but they were beyond help, and then Jake himself collapsed and went into a coma. He came got out of it most of his childhood memories were gone, especially those of his parents – he didn't remember their names, didn't recognize their pictures. The doctors concluded that it was a psychological problem, that he blocked everything. His personality had changed, too. He used to be quick-witted and very imaginative, and now he's … not exactly slow, more like plodding. Methodical and patient, but when he needs to go from A to Z, he does it letter for letter, and in exactly the right order. Figuratively speaking. Anyway, he'd joined Shandaken PD in the summer before the accident and had done an excellent job, so our old chief somehow managed to keep him on. He knows he'll never be promoted and will only be assigned to do the grunt work, but it gives him something to do he cares about. And he's got Kristen, who supported him all the way through his convalescence."

"What a horrible way to lose your parents," Castle said quietly. "And a big part of your own life - past and future."

"It takes a lot of courage to accept that the plans you had for your life can't be realized," Beckett let her hand brush against her husband's, subconsciously reassuring herself of his presence. "And even more to decide to live what many people might see as a lesser version of the future."

"You're definitely right about that. Our chief caught a lot of flak for his decision, partly because some people thought it was cruel to Jake. The others were afraid that his memory loss would extend to future occasions, but he proved all of them wrong."

The sergeant's voice had risen a little and Beckett wondered if she had taken the former chief's side fifteen years ago and been criticized for that, too.

"I think I have a copy of "In a Hail of Bullets" at home," Castle remarked. "Do you think Officer Caldwell's wife would like a signed first edition?"

"I'm sure she'd be delighted."

"Then spell her name for me, please."

* * *

"Your idea with the first edition for Kristen Caldwell is really nice," Kate said, when they were driving along the stretch of the NY 28 where the accident that had cost Jacob Caldwell's parents their life must have happened.

"It's also self-serving," he answered soberly. "Helps me deal with my bad conscience for believing her husband to be, well, obtuse."

"I feel chastened, too. But there was no way we could have known about it."

"Does that make a difference on how you feel?"

"No."

"I keep thinking about what I'll do if in the end it turns out I'm no longer able to write. Being a novelist is such an important part of my life, of me, and I'm scared out of my wits to think about what would be left of me if I lose that."

"Pull the car over."

"Why?" Castle checked the rear-view mirror. "Is this Camry behind us an unmarked? I didn't see them flash their lights."

"Just pull over, please."

The next possibility to leave the road turned out to be Shandaken Town Hall. Castle parked the car on the deserted lot.

"Are you carsick?"

"No, I'm fine, I just need your full attention."

"I'm listening."

"First of all, I think you've got a lot more stories to tell. Maybe they will come out as novels or short stories or, who knows, a play. A movie script. An episode of 'Temptation Lane'. But if your fears do come true and you can't coax your imagination into releasing them, you'll find that you're far more than a writer. You're a bar owner, a PI, an NYPD consultant, a friend, son, father – hopefully twice over some time in the future ..."

"... husband," Castle added.

"I was saving the best for last. What I'm trying to say is that whatever happens, you'll be whole."

"As long as I don't lose other parts of my life in the process, and I'm not talking about the The Old Haunt. A frustrated writer can be hell to live with."

"Have a little faith in your family, we're not that easy to scare off."

"Mother is living proof to that."

"And though I didn't say 'for better or worse' in exactly these words, it's what I promised. Besides, if you get too grumpy, I can always force Espo and Ryan to take you along on their cases. Or we'll take recorder lessons together."

"Recorder lessons? You'd do that for me?"

"Always."

"Have I told you lately that I love you?"

"You did, but don't let that stop you."

"Or instead of saying it, I should show it."

"Who came up with the idea of a center console," Castle grumbled too short a time later. "What happened to bench seats?"

"They were abandoned to keep people from violating article 245 of the penal code, I guess."

Castle pretended to wipe steam off the windshield.

"One more reason to get home quickly."

* * *

_Ten days later_

"Yo, Castle, long time no see," Esposito called out. "What you've been up to?"

"Writing. Night and day," Castle dropped into a chair next to the detective's desk and yawned. "My agent and my publisher-slash-ex-wife ganged up and kicked my ass for not getting the Nikki Heat novel done. Had they literally done it I wouldn't have been able to sit down to do what they told me to do for days. Did I miss a juicy murder?"

"Nah, just the usual. Husband gets killed by wife for cheating, intruder gets shot while intruding, two gangs have it out and score one dead each. Oh, a woman tried to kill her neighbor's cat by spiking an open can of Friskies with insulin when she dropped by 'for a little chat'. What she didn't know was that the neighbor and her cat share the Friskies. Both survived."

"And Trudy Franklin came by and confessed to stabbing a guy they fished out of the East River," Ryan joined them. "Case is still open, but the vic worked at the fish market in Hunt's Point and in all probability went in there."

"Poor woman," Castle shook his head.

"What about another poor woman," Ryan said. "I heard the one in your Paradise Lost-case has been ID'd. Who was she?"

Esposito mumbled something that could have been 'braggart'.

"Didn't Beckett tell you?"

"She intended to, but unlike us, who solve our cases on our own, Levy and Boyes need constant supervision," Esposito claimed. "They are currently at a loss at how to deal with a string of assaults on employees of Mount Sinai Beth Israel hospital."

"Are they with her now?" Castle took in the closed door and lowered blinds of the captain's office.

"No, they trudged out a while ago, she's conferring with Dean," Ryan answered. "Now come on, fill us in. All we know is that there have been multiple arrests in addition to the family who ran the lodge, and that none of them are talking."

"Alright. You know about the armory?" The detectives nodded. "That proved to be a goldmine, print-wise, the FBI was able to identify more than two dozen conspirators in six New York counties and some in Pennsylvania, and they're still at it. ATF found additional caches at the places that this right-winger visited who Hansen met with, but it looks like those were designed for interim storage only. Anyway, as you've said, everyone's keeping mum, so the exact nature of 'Turkey Riot' remains shrouded in mystery. On the pro side, the bombing case has been solved, partly due to my very late but successful effort to make reservations at Paradise Lodge for the Columbus Day weekend."

"How so?" Ryan asked mystified.

"Because the FBI thus learned that someone had canceled their stay by phone at a date suspiciously close to the incident. They traced an incoming call prior to mine to a businessman in Durham."

"And he'd sent the woman," Esposito deduced.

"No, but gave them the name of an acquaintance in Raleigh, who owns a construction company and discouraged him to spent the weekend in question at the lodge."

"Construction company," Esposito repeated. "Easy to lay your hand on TNT in that business."

"Exactly what the Feebs were thinking. They decided to give him the full treatment and had six agents barge in on him. He began to cry the moment the first on took his shades off and confessed every sin he committed since his first pinched cookie. After he spent some days in Serpent Valley with a college sophomore two years ago he was blackmailed by the Walshes. He suspected one of his engineers to be in on the scheme because he recommended Paradise Lodge to him, but came to the conclusion that he wasn't involved. The reason he knew of the place was that he grew up in Shandaken and worked summers at the lodge. Mr. Construction sensed an opportunity to get intel on the Walshes, maybe something to use as leverage against them. He was in luck, the engineer had found the obviously not that secret gorge, too, and his desperate boss decided to sent the sole woman on his demolition crew, who he was having an affair with, too, to bomb away the incriminating tapes. Her name was Alyssa Woodrow, and she'd turned 27 three days before she died."

"Why did she agree to such an inane plan when she should have had a birthday party instead?" Ryan voiced everybody's dismay.

"Love," Esposito said laconically.

"Infatuation," his partner countered. "It isn't love when you climb down a shaft at night, break into somebody's quarters and use TNT to destroy evidence of your married 'lover' making out with another woman."

"He probably told her it was a favor for a friend."

"One more reason to refuse."

"You're just too married to remember what you're willing to do to get your 'happily ever after'."

"Do I hear the voice of experience speaking?" Castle asked.

"You are hearing the voice of someone who grew up in a neighborhood where too many grown women were selling drugs, prostituting themselves and even killing for the scumbags they loved. And that wasn't just infatuation, they went to prison convinced that what they'd done was what you had to do to protect your man."

"What was the dumbest thing you did in the name of love?" Ryan asked.

"Getting the name of a girl who didn't know I existed tattooed on my chest by a moron who managed to misspell 'Rosa'."

"How can you get that wrong?"

"Don't know, but I spent five years seeing 'R-O-S-S-A' whenever I looked in the mirror, before I'd scraped together the necessary dough to have it removed."

"I once stole a bottle of altar wine and shared it with Lisa Kennedy," Ryan remembered. "We were ten or eleven, neither of us liked the taste but we finished the bottle anyway. I've never been so sick in my life. Castle?"

"Definitively marrying Gina. Though that might fall under 'infatuation'."

"Loo in five seconds," Ryan murmured warningly, and Dean left Beckett's office at exactly the prognosticated moment indeed. He nodded in Castle's direction who took this as a sign that the Lieutenant wouldn't arrest him for trespassing if he went to see his wife now.

He found her absorbed in a thick file, making notes on a yellow legal pad, and knocked on the doorjamb.

"Hey, you made your way out of your office," she greeted him with a smile. "Does it mean Nikki and Rook have gone aboard the cruise ship?"

"They're just one chapter away."

"Well, I hope you didn't come to talk me into leaving early, because I'd have to disappoint you. On the contrary, I'm probably staying a little longer today."

"The guys hinted at difficulties regarding Boyes and Levy needing to be shepherded through their cases."

Beckett indicated him to close the door.

"The problem is that they are too much alike," she said. "They think along the same lines, see things in the same light, go about their work in the same way. That's good if you want a harmonic team but bad if they run into a wall. Both are good detectives, but they could do better."

"Can't you pair them up with other detectives?"

"With whom? All the other teams work too well together to split them up, except maybe for Weld and Gonzalez, but Weld's going to retire at the end of the year and I bet Gonzalez will, too, rather sooner than later, to avoid getting used to a new, younger partner. Which brings me to the next problem – I might not be able to fill Weld's slot if the latest recommendations about budget cuts are being followed."

She took a deep breath.

"But you haven't come to hear me bitch about my job. What could get you unglued from your desk?"

"There was a postcard from the Caldwells in today's mail."

"Thanking you for sending them your book?"

"Yes. In the following words. 'Dear Mr. Castle, thank you very much for the signed copy of your debut novel. I will enjoy reading it on the plane and it will make our stopover more than bearable. Yours gratefully, Kristen Caldwell'. And then he writes 'we'd been hoping that your latest oeuvre would be out before we leave, since I'm not sure we can get a copy later on. Greetings to your wife. Yours Jacob Caldwell'. It was posted three days ago at Logan airport in Boston. Now look at the motif."

He held the card up for her to see. It showed a Turkey stepping into a bunny costume, with 'Disguise is everything – Happy Thanksgiving' written beneath.

It took Beckett half a minute to recover and less time to look up the number of the Shandaken PD and dial. Getting the dispatcher to put her through to the Chief proved to be an obstacle but finally she was able to relate the unexpected development to Roger Fox.

"Caldwell has taken a week off," she told Castle after ending the call. "The Chief was under the impression that he and his wife were visiting Kristen's aunt in Boston. He'll look into it and call me back, but that might take some time."

"I'll leave you to your files and skulk around in the bull pen then."

"Just try to not keep anyone from his or her job."

"Who, me? What an absurd idea."

* * *

Beckett found her husband in an animated discussion about superhero comics versus manga with a young man in one of the holding cells in the station house's basement.

"… Comic-Cadia and ask for Mike Hoover," Castle was saying. "He knows everybody in the business and can put you in touch with the right people."

"Thanks, man, I'll do that," the man responded. "I gotta say, you're the coolest dude Social Services ever sent around."

"Oh, I'm not from Social Services."

"You a priest?"

"Heavens, no!" Castle caught sighte of Beckett. "I'm just a guy wanted by the Captain."

"That's right, Mr. Castle. It's time for us to talk. Hey, Dylan, I heard you were at the Hyatt again, harassing guests."

"I was trying to find money for my idea. A loan. It was strictly business."

"Yes, we've talked about that before. Your mom will pick you up after her shift."

"I know. Hey, Captain, whatever this dude did, show some mercy. He's a good guy."

"I'll see what I can do."

* * *

"Am I safe to assume that you've heard from Chief Fox?" Castle asked as soon as they were back in Beckett's office.

"It was actually Lieutenant Carlson who called, and I can tell you, the man was shaken to the core. At first, they tried to reach Caldwell and his wife on their cells, without success, then he had the security at Logan airport check the long-term parking lot for their car. It was there. After they'd found out that the two of them had checked in for a flight to the Maldives via Dubai, Fox decided to get the FBI on board and the Caldwell's house was searched. Guess what they found."

"A signed confession of being the driving force behind Turkey Riot?"

"You're close. It was a strongbox empty safe for three loose-leaf binders. One held a list of the members of the 'Catskill Army', as they called themselves. Jacob and Kristin were on it, though they don't seem to have played a special role in the organization. Caldwell is the only member of Shandaken's police on the list, by the way."

"A small consolation."

"The second binder contained the Army's ledger. According to that, there should have been about twelve thousand dollars in cash – the FBI assumes that they were planning another shopping trip."

"They were somewhat short on mortars."

"In addition to the cash, they had deposited more than half a million dollars in six different banking accounts, both domestic and foreign."

"I know I'm just speculating – the accounts have been cleaned out."

"Those the FBI could check were. How did you know?"

Castle gave a modest shrug.

"And last but not least binder number three. The details of 'Turkey Riot'."

Beckett paused dramatically.

"Don't make me beg," her husband growled.

"The plan was to usurp town halls, police stations, and other government offices in Ulster County on Thanksgiving," she continued with a grin. "Enthused by this, the Ulsterites would join them, spreading the revolution to neighboring counties, finally creating the 'Independent State of Appalachia'."

"They actually believed people would take up arms to support them?" Castle asked in utter bewilderment.

"Actually, they didn't. The 'Ulsterites' would have been comprised of further members of the 'Catskill Army', but they wanted it to look like they were representing the people's will."

"Did the words 'National Guard' turn up anywhere in their scheme?"

"Nope. The master plan ends with the proclamation of the state."

"Stark raving mad, each and every one of them," Castle issued a proclamation of his own.

"No question about that," Beckett agreed.

"What about the Caldwells?"

"What about them? The Maldives aren't Brazil – no extradition treaty. They're getting away with it, at least for the moment."

"You're right, their karma will catch up with them one day."

"I was thinking more along the lines of them returning when they run out of money and getting nabbed by the FBI."

"Who said the Feebs cannot become karmic henchmen?"

Beckett deemed the question rhetoric and ignored it.

"There will be a slew of additional arrests," she said. "The Catskill Army had almost two hundred members."

Castle whistled.

"That's more than I expected. ATF and FBI have their work cut out for them."

"At least some of the accused are talking now. Carlson told me that they confronted Tyler Walsh with the contents of the strongbox, and of course with the truth about the Caldwells. That move proved to be the open sesame. Jacob Caldwell had Tyler and many others believe he'd use the money to get them out."

"How was he supposed to do that?"

"None of them could explain what they expected him to do, but they trusted him blindly."

"And he robbed them blind. But I wonder – did Caldwell fake this whole amnesia and personality change stuff? Or is Kristen a modern-day Lady Macbeth?"

"You've got to ask them if karma gives you the chance."

Castle's reply was cut short by Esposito appearing in the doorway.

"Cap, we caught a murder. Want to join us, Castle?"


End file.
